Double-Sided Vigilance
by Ashesofthefirststar
Summary: The law abiding NPA Agent, Byakuya Kuchiki, begins an investigation on a vigilante organization taking out members of the Japanese mob. As he begins to suspect Ichigo as the front man for the group, the two become intertwined in a game of cat & mouse. As the agent goes deeper into the case and deeper into the mind of Ichigo, the lines of right and wrong begin to blur.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: The law abiding Ex Captain of the Homicide division turned NPA Agent, Byakuya Kuchiki, begins an investigation on a vigilante organization taking out members of the Japanese mob. As he begins to suspect Ichigo as the frontman for the group, the two become intertwined in a game of cat and mouse. As the agent goes deeper into the case and deeper into the mind of Ichigo, the lines of right and wrong begin to blur. Despite knowing their enemies, the two grow closer in their twisted and unexplainable attraction for each other.**

 **A/N: Hey readers! If you've read any of my work before, you probably know how I operate, but if you're new, I hope you enjoy this little piece of fiction. Let me explain a few things about this story. First and foremost, this, like many of my other stories, is a slow burn. If you're looking for something light or FLUFFY, this is NOT the story for you. This is somewhat of a psychological thriller and highly inspired by other works, such as Death Note and The Boondocks Saints. However, it is most definitely a ByaIchi fic.**

 **This is an A.U, and because of that, go easy on the characterization. I try really hard to keep the characters the same at their crux, but some characters, namely Ichigo, are pretty different from cannon. Though it should be said that this is because Ichigo undergoes life altering events and loses himself. Slowly he will become more like himself in the manga.**

 **This story is set in modern day Tokyo, so to keep it as realistic as possible, I did a lot of research into their culture. From the gestures they use, to the way the policing system works, it's all pretty on the nose. If something needs to be explained, such as what certain titles and gestures mean, I will make sure the reader understands.**

 **I'm not sure how often I'll update this story, since I still have three other active stories, however, I already have the first two chapters written and am deep into the third. The update rate will probably depend on the feedback this story gets, so if you really like it and want the next update soon Fav/Follow/Review this story.**

 **Good vibes!**

 **xXx**

" **I never feel more human than when I'm chasing real monsters." - Mustang**

 **xXx**

 **Hero**

Bracing himself against the harsh crisp winds, Agent Renji Abarai took a sizable sip of his convenient store coffee before making a displeased scowl. Still, he knew if there was any chance of getting through the day, he'd need it. He pressed the butt of his Caste Mild cigaret to his lips, jaundicing his lungs with nicotine while the subtle vanilla flavor simultaneously ridded his taste buds of the abhorrent piss brew.

"Renji-san," Agent Byakuya Kuchiki stated as he came to stand beside the man. "Do you smell that? It smells like depravity and death," he noted before pulling out a cigarette of his own and lighting it up, not needing to cup his hands against the hefty breeze because of his wind resistant zippo. His chosen brand was called 'The Peace' and cost twice as much as most cigarettes in Japan. Renji would often tease the man, saying he was paying an arm and leg just to get lung cancer, but Byakuya did like the finer things in life, and if he was going to die from such a habit, he'd be damned if he was going down sucking on substandard tobacco.

With a smirk, Renji inhaled deeply, taking in the aroma of Japanese BBQ being given off by a nearby restaurant. "Ah, smells like nostalgia to me, Keibu."

Rolling his ash eyes in a mild fashion, Byakuya said, "I haven't been your Keibu in quite sometime." Pausing, he took a drag of his cigarette and added, "A nostalgia I'd rather not revisit."

Giving the man an aslant glare, Renji stated, "You'll always be my Keibu to me. Besides, being back at our old stomping grounds brings it out of me." Finishing the rest of his coffee in one valiant gulp, Renji made an uncouth sound, sticking out his tongue slightly before ditching the styrofoam cup in a nearby trash can. "Though, I don't miss the coffee in this area." After a brief pause and a few more deep sharp drags of his cigaret, Renji added, "Come on, admit it, you missed getting your hands dirty. You were the one who requested this."

With the slightest of smirks, signaling the mixture of frustration and amusement that Byakuya felt, he countered, "Perhaps a little, but then again, I may just be as delusional as you, Arabia." After a deep sigh, he added, "Let's just hope we can make a difference this time."

Something unheard of was happening within the streets of Tokyo. Well, a multitude of unheard events were occurring as a domino effect. Four months ago, members of the Inagawa Kai, the third largest family of the Yakuza crime syndicate, had started dropping like flies in seemingly organized and swift assassination. At first, it was thought that these murders were committed by competing branch families and that fractures had began to take place within the Yakuza. It reeked of a possible mob war.

It soon came to light that the situation was much more peculiar than a simple mob war. First off, the assassinations seemed to have no pattern or reason. For the members killed ranged from different gangs, each with hands in different dealings. More so, through the use of criminal informants, it was revealed that no other branch families seemed to be benefiting from the deaths. There were no fractures or possible take overs. It seemed these were murders for the sake of murder.

At first, the National Police Agency of Japan couldn't fathom the possibility, but after months of dead ends and dead bodies, deductible evidence had surfaced. Exactly a month prior, a branch gang involved in human trafficking was hit while moving a shipment of what they liked to call merchandise and what other people liked to call their kidnaped, deeply missed family members. Not only were the victims released and unharmed, but the van that was responsible for moving the shipment was marked with the words Forty-Seven Ronin.

Such a simple phrase was enough to absolve the clouds of denial that reigned over the ruling government of Japan. Forty-Seven Ronin told of a tale of retribution seeking samurais whom enacted their revenge against the government who killed their leader. Though the lore became synonymous with loyalty through Japan, the bare bone moralism behind the story was transparent: vengeance, taking law and justice within one's own bloodied hands.

After that eye - opening situation, the NPA began to work under the assumption that they were dealing with their very first veritable vigilante. Someone or some group were working around the law to eradicate the seediest most nefarious mobsters Tokyo had to offer.

In a way, to some members of the NPA, a mob war was preferential. You see, though Japan is known for being a beacon of safety, that in no way meant it was without crime. In fact, the Yakuza family were so organized in their crime, that it hardly ever affected the everyday citizens of Japan. More so, many corrupt police were aligning themselves with the syndicate in hopes of giving the fraudulent appearance of security while also stuffing their own avaricious pockets with 'look the other way' money. The corruption of the Mob was controlled and monitored through means of corruption, meaning, in ways, Yakuza was a controllable evil. This self proclaimed vigilante, however, was not. He, she, or them, were unpredictable, an unknown variable that acted out of the control of The Criminal Investigation Bureau.

The media frenzy of such an event became intractable and trouble causing, for they coined the the vigilante 'The Ghost of Tokyo' for his impalpable and swift movements. Most of Tokyo's denizen had mixed emotions of such a faction existing, while head members of the Yakuza became restless, readying themselves to take their own actions against the assassin. It was a combination of an undermining of police power and possible large scale retaliations that caused the NPA to become involved, for it was becoming a matter of national security.

The hierarchy of policing within Japan worked as such: The National Police agency worked to determine general standards and policies that trickle down to The Criminal Investigation Bureau. The NPA had no active police of their own, but in times of national crises, the agency is authorized to take command of prefectural police forces. Still most involvement is rather hands off and involved communication via technology. It is almost unheard of for an agent to go into the trenches, actively involving themselves in the thicket of investigation. However, Byakuya Kuchiki had always been a special case.

Byakuya Kuchiki was the ex captain- titled Keibu - of the homicide division of The Criminal Investigation Bureau, and had a reputation for being one of the most effective yet virtuous investigators of his time. For ten years, the man yielded to no one and refused to negotiate with known criminals. Unlike most other Captains, Byakuya did not turn the other cheek to the Yakuza and ruthlessly went after the syndicate at any chance he had. It kept the Captain up at night, for he abhorred the idea that badge wilding officers would play nicely with mob members all for their own selfish gains, and for ten years, him and his division worked tenaciously to eradicate it. In ways, Byakuya was a loose cannon himself. For even the NPA often had a laissez faire handle on the crime syndicate, claiming that though it was a broken system, it was system that worked and kept most members of Japan safe. The ex captain had to disagree, which is why he always attended to his duties with an iron fist of justice.

It was nothing short of a miracle that Byakuya had not been taken out for his relentless and cohesive actions again the mob, for his rate of successfully solved cases surpassed any captain in the history of the CIB. It was that exact reason that the Yakuza family idled their hands, because there symbiotic relationship with law enforcement could be at risk if they eliminated one of the shrewdest investigators to bless the CIB. In the end, the man had barely left a scratch mark in their debased dealings and was ultimately a flight risk the family took in stride.

Even after ten years of fighting against the tide, Byakuya too had realized that he was fighting a losing battle. For it was the mechanisms around dealing with police corruption that kept change from occurring, and if Byakuya wanted to fight against said venality, it would be by means of changing these debased laws. As such, he moved up the latter and resided amongst the piranha's, hoping one day to gain a position powerful enough to enact real change. His Lieutenant, also know as a Keibuho, Renji, followed in suit. For none believed in Byakuya's moral compass and mission of integrity more so than him. Only now, the two Agents worked as equals.

It had been just over a year since he'd, at the ripe age of thirty four, was promoted to his position. Yet, as they say, one can run from their past, but it never truly leaves them. No, the past was just a dormant tumor that came back with a vengeance once it was stimulated correctly. Though, the analogy did lend itself to make it seem as if he had no other choice, when the exact opposite held true. He had asked to have a hands on involvement in the investigation, if not insisted, and because of his history and track record, they were inclined to allow it. Something about this mission had tickled him, piqued his interest to say the least. For the whole situation seemed as such a moral gray area. Byakuya, being a man who valued the law above all else, abhorred the idea of using criminal activity to stop criminal activity, it was everything he had been working against. For that reason, he could not permit the existence of such a ratification. Despite that, he could obviously see the difference. For while the justice system used crime in such a manner to benefit themselves, this entity seemed to work for the sole purpose of annihilating the syndicate, possibly pushed by their own unquenchable thirst for revenge and justice. It was that reason that the man couldn't find it him to be disgusted by this autonomous culprit(s), for their motives resonated with the man in certain aspects. None the less, he would put an end to them if he did so with his last dying breath.

So now here he was, back in the trenches of his humble beginnings. Home sweet hell.

Both men stood in front of a what would look like a normal Pachinko parlor if it weren't for the police tape enclosing the establishment. For the shop was located in Kabukicho, the largest red light district in all of Asia, and despite the appearance of safety and the jillion of tourist that congregate, criminal activity oozed from the seedy underbelly. Quite of few establishments had been taken over by the Inagawa Kai and doubled as an area of assemblage and safe haven for discussing the intricacies of whatever corruption was the flavor of the week. This specific parlor had already been suspected of illegal gambling- allowing their customers to gamble with money instead of tokens- and apparently that was the least of their transgressions.

An anonymous call came into the station early this morning, a few days after Byakuya had been put on the case, reporting six men dead. The owners played it smart and cleared out while all the veterans of the district would move to the other side of the street to keep themselves from possible association with the police or establishment; no one was talking.

Disposing of his cigarette, Byakuya lifted up the police tape and dipped under, Renji in suit. The two entered the establishment and were met by the headache inducing flamboyancy of Pachinko machines. It was one long aisle lined with apparatuses that looked similar to pinball machines, yet vivid with effulgent colors. It was like an arcade for the lovers of luck. Both men walked down the aisle, stepping over an array of cloyed chairs, tokens, and beverages strewn in a moment of disarray. When the two men approached the end of the spectacle, Byakuya headed straight for a doorway at the back of the establishment. The door was wide open, but also covered with police tape, and lead to the basement area of this establishment. This is where the diabolic magic happened, and Byakuya could practically smell the pugnacity of death in the air.

Stepping over the tape, the two agents descended down the staircase, only to be met by the buzzing of police officers and forensic workers. The rumble of speculative chatter and the flashing of cameras filled the murky ambiance as the two took in the sight. It seemed like a rather run of the mill operation, semi nice couches, a bar in the back, and a table festooned with enough illicit drugs to keep the whole red light district on a cloud of belligerency for a week. Six dead mobsters were splayed out in a grimy display, surrounded by shambled playing cards and spilt drinks, not one with a single fatal wound. The precision of these executions were practically palpable. Whoever took these lives did so with such dexterity, not wasting a single movement. There was an obvious artistry hidden within the morbidity, a dance that had been rehearsed time and time again. Their rigor mortice and ashen faces only triumphed in horror by the amorality of the lives they lived. Though, for a crime scene, the whole display was rather mild, considering some of the nightmare inducing blood baths Byakuya found him self knee deep in.

After a few moments of observational by-standing, their presence was noticed. "Renji fucking Abarai & Byakuya fucking Kuchiki," the blithe voice of Shinji Hirako rang freely as the man ambled towards them, arms open. By this point, Renji was walking towards the man, enthusiastically preparing to return the embrace of his old comrade. "The Dream Team, as I live and fucking die, man."

Hugging his friend tightly, Renji's face lit up with the most beamingly nostalgic grin Byakuya had seen the man wear in a while. "Ah, you're not dead yet," Renji teased, patting the man on the back.

"Yet," Shinji reiterated.

He took no time of slinging his hands in his pocket and sauntering towards Byakuya, shaking his head in an amused disbelief with tongue in cheek. "Geez, the Great White himself. I can hardly believe it."

"And I can't believe that as a Keibu you still don't know the correct way of addressing your superiors," Byakuya deadpanned, though with no sincere malice behind his words. The decorated members of the Homicide Division were his only true family for almost ten years, especially after the death of his life partner, and despite the air of arrogance Byakuya carried with him, they knew it to be apart of the man's dynamic charisma.

A comical grin lit up the captain's face as he held out a hand for Byakuya. "And I see you haven't changed one bit," he noted, obviously happy about the lack of evolution in the man's personality. When Byakuya reached out to shake the man's hand, Shinji griped it hard and pulled the man in for an unexpected gesture of affection, shocking him slightly with a hug. "Don't you dare try to shake hands with me, you bastard. We're family and I haven't seen you in a year," he chided, patting the man's back. Though not a very affection man by nature, and despite the confusion caused by the quick embrace, Byakuya's features soften and he resigned to return the hug, surprising himself with how much he missed all of this.

With one more pat before releasing his vice grip on the man, Shinji bemused, "Man, the Great White in the flesh. It's like seeing a ghost."

Narrowing his eyebrows in a disapproving fashion, Byakuya questioned, "I haven't heard that nickname in ages, do people still regard me as such?"

With a sly grin, Shinji confirmed, "The only thing more tenacious than you were the rumors about you."

"And everyone of them well deserved," Renji praised, winking towards Byakuya.

Within the millisecond between Byakuya inhaling and exhaling a deep breath, a jaunty set of flailing limbs rushed him, jumping on the man while simultaneously nosing her arms around his neck. "The legend lives!" The women boomed eagerly, hugging him to the point of asphyxiation.

After gathering himself from the impact of two unsolicited embraces in a matter of a minuet, Byakuya finally looked down at the owner of the stifling appendages. "Not for long if you keep cutting off my air way, Yoruichi-san"

"Oh Keibu, oh Keibu," the women singsonged, "It's good to have you back."

"Now Yoruichi-san," the man said flatly, "don't be rude. Hirako-san is your Keibu now, I'm just here to make sure it stays that way." Raising an eyebrow, Byakuya continued humorously, "Four months and you still haven't caught him, Hirako-san? I thought you better than that. My longest open case was only two."

Putting his hands up as if he being held by gunpoint, the man countered humbly, "Hey, I never claimed to be able to fill your shoes. I'm just going to sit back and watch you do your thing on this one."

"It's hard to fill the shoes of someone who has such giant feet," Yoruichi teased, nudging the man. Turning her attention to Renji, the women greeted with a smile, "And don't think I forgot about you, Big Red."

"You better have not," he teased back, taking no time in hugging the women. "The mystery team unites again."

With a roll of the eyes, Byakuya mocked, "You're getting ahead of yourself, as always."

"Ah, let me have this one Byakuya-san. It's just like old times."

Knelt down with camera in hand, forensic worker Yumichika took photos of strewn bottles, or in his opinion, absolutely nothing of significance. Allowing his camera to dangle from his strap and drop lazily against his chest, he took a contemplative sigh. "Useless, absolutely useless." At the feeling of his camera strap being pulled against his neck slightly, he turned his head to see a pair of intense brown eyes looking down at him, holding out a Styrofoam cup.

He gave a cursory glance at the cup before crinkling his nose in disdain. "Get that pathetic excuse for a beverage away from me," he demanded.

"Tech," Lieutenant Madarame Ikkaku-san smacked his gums, narrowing his brows at the rudeness. "Just take it, dammit. You look tired."

With a roll of the eyes, Yumichika stood up and took the cup, holding it as if it was infected with flu causing germs. "What do you want? You always want something," he asked suspiciously, finally relinquishing his wariness and letting the coffee graze his lips.

Smiling maniacally, the man shrugged his shoulders half heartedly. "I want a lot of things, a new motorbike, a lifetime's supply of sake, a date with you."

Yumichika tugged at his bottom lip slightly before he narrowed his eyebrows at the man. "Are you really asking me on a date while we're standing amongst dead bodies.. again?"

Ikkaku reasoned, "In my defense, I only see you when we're around dead bodies."

Yumi chuckled and gave that saucy smirk that not only said how beautiful he was, but that he knew it too. "You have absolutely no tact," he insulted.

"I got other things though," the man returned the smirk, caught up in the others glow. "Like a good job, a roof over my head, and the ability to make you laugh. That's something, right?"

"And don't forget persistence," Yumichika added, his usually sharp features lighting slightly.

"See," the man noted arrogantly, "you're falling in love with me already."

"Ha," Yumichika let out a derisive laugh. "You were right, you're very laughable Keibuho Madarame-san."

"Yeah, and you're too damn formal," the man grunted in complaint.

Grazing his eyes around the room slightly, Yumichika nodded in the direction of the new arrivals. "Great White is back, can you believe it?"

Rolling his eyes, he muttered bitterly, "Yeah, fucking awesome."

Smirking playfully at the reaction, Yumichika asked, "What's your deal with him anyway?"

Trying to appear aloof, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "Nothing', the guy's just got the personality of a lamp post. I guess that's what people are into these days."

"I actually really enjoy his dry humor," Yumichika shrugged his shoulder in suit, his eyes gleaming with an impish curiosity. "More so, he really cared about all of his comrades, even if he did come off cold sometimes. Even you he cared for."

"I think you just think he's good looking," Ikkaku speculated, barely hiding his envy.

As it was the most apparent thing in the world, Yumichika reasoned, "Well yes, but that goes for three-fourths of this division." When Ikkaku just grunted in response, Yumichika added, "You really are the only one in your unit who has a problem with him."

"Well, ya know," Ikkaku said, no longer really feeling in the mood for this conversation- not if Yumichika was going to croon over glacier face that is. "I have always liked to go against the grain."

Unable to hide the smile that painted his alabaster face, he chuckled, "You really are cute sometimes, Keibuho Mandarame-san."

Such a simple compliment rejuvenated Ikkaku's confidence, causing him to grin widely. "Cute enough to get a date?"

Throwing the man a disparaging glare, Yumichika warned, "Don't get ahead of yourself. I also find puppies and babies cute."

Ikkaku just sighed and rolled his eyes as Yumichika handed him a sheet of paper. "Do you mind heading this report off to Agent Kuchiki-san?"

"Why don't you do it, since you have such a crush on the guy?" Ikkaku groused.

"I do not have a crush on him, I just appreciate all beautiful things," Yumichika reasoned with a smile. "Now, stop being jealous and take this to Agent Kuchiki-san, and if you know what's good for you and your career, you'll try to get on the task force he'll be preparing for this case."

"Like I care about those kind of things," Ikkaku grunted, snatching the paper from Yumichika who was smiling victoriously.

Straightening his poster, Ikkaku swaggered right over to Byakuya who still stood among a group of his collages. "Agent Kuchiki-san," Ikkaku greeted with a less than enthused tone. "This is the on scene forensic report. It really doesn't look to promising."

With an amicable nod of the head, Byakuya took the paper and said, "Thank you Junsa-buchō Madarame-san."

"It's Kibue-ho now, actually," Ikkaku corrected bitingly.

Raising a cursory eyebrow, he barely lifted a steady eye on the man. "You replaced Renji-san?"

Stepping in before his pugnacious lieutenant could take the moment of confusion as a personal insult on his abilities, Shinji gave Ikkaku an encouraging slap on the shoulder and said, "He sure did. Ikkaku-san is top notch, this kid."

After blinking pensively for a moment, Byakuya concluded, "I never took you for a man who had much interest in advancement."

"I'm not, but someone had to do it, and when you're good you're good," Ikkaku answered honestly.

"Right," Byakuya let the scantiest of smiles tug at his lips. "I'm sure you make a great Kibue-ho, Madarame-san."

"Yo, chrome-dom, did you not see me standing here or something?" Renji asked, sounded mildly offended.

"How could I not with that bright ass hair of yours?" Ikkaku jested, moving over to give one of his long time friend a fist pump.

"It's called trying to be professional, besides It ain't like we don't see each other outside of work."

"You? Professional? Since when?" Renji teased back.

Looking up from the report, Byakuya shook his head and huffed. "As nice as this is, I rather keep the sentiments aways from the cadaverous," Byakuya said, now walking around the room, taking a closer look at the different variables of the crime, or for him, they were more like animal tracks.

"Are you kidding me? Some of our best bonding moments were around stiffs," Shinji reminded, following in suit.

Renji watched from afar, recognizing the predatory spark returning in the man's eyes. He loved to watch him like this, filled with a latent intuition for the human condition, the true apex predator. It had been so long. "This is pretty normal for us, Kuchiki-san."

"Yeah," Yoruichi challenged with a smirk, "But let's see if a year of paper pushing dulled those instincts."

Waffling his eye's in her direction briefly, with the hint of a smirk in his tone he disputed, "It's like riding a bike, Junsa-bunchō Yoruichi-san."

"Right, Solving a mass murder case, riding a bike, totally the same."

"So the reports saying they were poisoned," he looked back and forth between mobsters, "though that's obvious." Pacing thoughtfully, he thought out loud, "Clean clean, always so clean."

"Tell me, what do we know about these men?"

This time, Ikkaku spoke up. "Their two different gangs, but from the same family, the Inagawa Kai. We're figuring this was a pretty important meeting, because this fat fellow over here and that one," he nodded towards a lithe black haired corpse retired over a mess of broken glass, shallow cuts decorating his face. "They're both shatei gashira."

Byakuya looked on intently at the collapsed corpses with narrowed eyes. Shatei Gashira were regional bosses, heading over a number of smaller gangs within the area of Tokyo. Though the Yakuza liked to call themselves one big happy murderous family, they were much more like a multimillion dollar company, complete with CEO's, presidents, division managers, store managers, and fodder. And like any cut throat company, they worked effectively, like a fine oil machine cranking out debauchery at record rates. They ran the game ruthlessly, having a monopoly on hedonic damnation and selling it for retail prices. Word on the street, a baggie and some heavy petting only put you out about eight thousand yen. Who knew dirtying one's soul could be so economical?

The two lost souls, well, compared to higher up members, they were rooks in this game of chess. Still, whoever this group was, they didn't just throw a pebble in the world pool. This would cause ripples all the way up. At this rate, the Yakuza would start moving pieces too.

A shiver of frustrating jealousy worked it's way through Byakuya's tendons. For ten years of his life, in which he sacrificed more than a few sleepless nights, he never made a ripple this big. Playing by the rules, making every decision based on virtue, and he never once felt such a triumph; he never once kinked their cogs in such a manner. However, the envy was not enough to make him consider sinking so low.

"Fujimoto Emi and Kato Hayato, correct? I recognize them now that I take a better look. I tried for these men a big portion of my career." He looked over to the table situated in the middle of the bone orchard, taking in the jagged calligraphy reading: Forty - Seven Ronin, in red marker.

'Forty-Seven Ronin,' Byakuya introspected. After a transitory moment of silent thought, he said with an edge of derisiveness, "Forty-seven Ronin, the tale of vengeance, huh?"

"Seems pretty detached for vengeance," Renji speculated. "Doesn't seem too blood thirsty."

"Yes," Byakuya agreed, "but we could be looking at this message the wrong way. Forty-seven Ronin wasn't just about enacting revenge, it was about the annihilation of a corrupt government." Vacillating his mute glare in between Shinji, Renji, and Ikkaku, Byakuya asked, "And who's the ruling government in Japan?"

Renji started to reply, but cut himself off at the realization that he wasn't quite getting the implications. It was a trick question.

To Agent Kuchiki's surprise, it was Ikkaku who first spoke up. "The crime syndicate, they run everything."

"Right," Byakuya nodded. "Many would like you to believe that our government heads run the show while keeping the Yakuza in check, but it's quite the opposite. In every ruling nation, it's the criminals of the world who pull the strings, and we're just the puppets. Our idea of government is more or less a giant smoke screen." Pulling out a cigaret and lighting it up, he continued, "No. they're sending a message that they're trying to eliminate the true source of the corruption, since our acting government so often looks the other way. This is what I believe."

"So," Shinji inquired, "you see no personal revenge behind these killings?"

Pushing out a cloud of smoke, Byakuya replied, "I see a tragedy and strong convictions caused by such. No one just commits to something of this significance without provocation. You could say these were the acts of a mentally unstable narcissist trying to enact their own justice, however, I see little of the anger or emotions that usually accompany those types of killings." Pausing briefly, Byakuya concluded, "He is a strange one."

"He?" Shinji speculated.

Nodding, Byakuya responded, "This does have sort of a masculine feel to it, don't you think? I'm not so sure why myself, because I feel very little personal intimacy involved in this. It's just my gut, I suppose. "

"But women are more likely to use poison," Ikkaku pointed out.

"Women serial killers are, and there's a personal enjoyment in that. No. poison was a professional choice for this person, because it was the most efficient tool for the job."

Erecting an eyebrow, Renji asked, "You don't think this guy finds enjoyment behind this?"

Without hesitation, Byakuya responded, "That I'm not sure of, but I will find out. I'll get behind the mindset of this man."

"You mean woman," Yoruichi chimed in, walking over from where she was stationed on the other side of the room.

"What?" Byakuya urged.

A smile creeped upon the woman's face as she said, "You four are all going to want to see this."

With a deliberate purpose, the women walked towards a black fold up table, upon it sat a lap top. Siting down, her fingers tapped away at lightning speeds, only out shined by the zealousness of her words. "We finally got all of this security footage cleaned up from the camera over there by the bar. It was the only operational one. Byakuya, you're never going to believe the show this chick put on for us. It's almost like she wants to get caught."

For the first time since Byakuya stepped upon this peculiar crime scene, he let his confusion emoticon. "But they're usually so clean, so careful."

"I know," Yoruichi agreed. "Almost sounds a little to good to be true." The woman raised a dubious eyebrow, and before starting the video, she said, "But a picture's worth a thousand words and a videos worth a million."

Byakuya watched on ardently as Yoruichi began to explain exactly what the group was looking at. Around the table sat the six men, all with a different racily clad women slung across their laps like some kind of objects. Their leather covered bottoms bouncing in an eager attempt of showman ship, all nibbling at the greasy lobs or double chins of their well endowed mobsters.

"No doubt these are ladies of the evening," Yoruichi observed.

"These girls, I've dealt with them before on other cases. They're call girls for some of the seediest men in the syndicate," Byakuya added, leaning in closer to the monitor, ingraining the image in his memory.

"Then this was just another Saturday evening for them," Yoruichi jested.

"It was probably one of these girls who left the tip," Shinji speculated.

"Now, something here doesn't belong. Can you find Waldo, Byakuya?"

Narrowing his eyebrows at the screen, he saw it. Moving closer as if the track was palpable, he said, "Gloves. The girl with the long brunette hair and leather jacket dancing for Fujimoto, she's wearing leather gloves."

"Mhm," Yoruichi fast forwarded slightly, "you would be correct. After a little bit of suggestive dancing, she makes her way over to the bar and pulls out a bottle and six glasses, and lays them on a serving tray. Then she gives one to each of the men." Pointing at the screen, she said, "And look at this." The gloved killer stood briefly behind one of the mobsters who offered the girl on his lap a sip from his unknowingly poisoned cup. The assassin swiftly made a decision, grabbing the girl's chin and kissing her deeply, as if there was true euphoric pleasure from the exchanging of spit. All the mobsters hooted in pleasure as they chugged down their death tonics merrily, their perverted fantasies being tickled one last time. That's when the first one dropped.

"Back it up. I need a full body shot," Byakuya demanded, and Yoruichi did so promptly. For a moment, Byakuya stood quietly inspecting the figure on the tiny glowing screen. Finally, he stood back straight and pulled out another cigarette. A resigned look shined through the smoke as Byakuya concluded, "That's not a women." Yes, Byakuya wasn't a stranger to the male physique. Enough to know when one was right in front of his face.

Bewildered looks washed over his comrades as they all inched closer to the screen, trying to find what Byakuya's seasoned eye's saw differently.

"Are you sure?" Ikkaku asked.

"Positive," Byakuya answered shortly.

"With an ass that nice?" Yoruichi baffled.

Amused, Byakuya pointed out, "Men can have shapely backsides too, Yoruichi-san."

"You would know, wouldn't ya?'"

"True, he has a very lithe body, but I see a ton of subtle muscles in his physique. I'm sure that's the reason he's wearing more clothes than the rest. Also, that adams apple speaks for itself." Flicking his cigarette carelessly, he leaned back in on his palms, scrutinizing, preparing, tracking. "And don't bother trying to run his face through the facial recognition database."

"Why?" Shinji asked.

"Because, he's wearing prosthetics." Pointing at the image of the man's face, he said, "Zoom in, please. It's the slightest of nuance right there where the chin meets his ear. Whom ever did them, well it's close to perfect. Under the lighting, unless you're looking for them, they're practically undetectable."

"So that means.." Renji faltered

"That means, even though we have this video, we don't have a solid lead." Tapping his fingers in repetition, Byakuya said, "We saw the whole thing play out, but this man still vanished without a trace." Pausing briefly, a gleam of an intrinsic animalistic pursuance permeated his features, and without realizing it, the smallest of smirks pulled at the crevices of his lips. For a man like Byakuya, he loved the hunt. More so, the challenge that came with it and the gratification of knowing he could put away just one more of Tokyo's lowlifes. Despite whatever this man's intentions might be or what morals he thought he had, he was a murderer and arrogantly took life as something that's his to condemn. With such hypocrisy, murderers killing murderers, this amaranthine cycle of death would just keep burning until the whole world was a holocaust. There had to be morals, there had to be a line in the sand, or everyone would just be sociopathic charlatans drowning in their own twisted sense of justice; for this was what Byakuya believed fervently.

He looked intensely into the green orbs of the man, figuring that his eyes probably weren't green at all. No doubt that with all the trouble he went through to be in disguise, he took time to put in contacts. Though no matter the pigment, the eyes were a doorway, a scintilla of light into the mind of their owners. Many times, Byakuya had looked into the eyes of criminals and could read their every intention, fear, and weak spot. Yet where he would usually find blood-lust, deranged animus, unsatisfiable edacity, and trepidation caused by erratic emotions, in this man's eyes, he saw nothing. Absolute oblivion. There was no guilt, no joy, no sorrow, only the pulse that thumped within the cavity of this man was proof to being alive. He seemed completely detached, unfeeling, a monster.

Perhaps a monster that killed bad men, even a monster who saved that call girl's life, despite it being of no benefit to himself, but to Byakuya, he was a monster all the same. He had to be, for anyone who could kill a man with nothing but emptiness in his eyes couldn't be human at his crux. Something cracked within this once man, evolving him into the accursed vessel that murdered these mobsters without so much as a flicker of the eye. Though the cop in him wouldn't allow himself to overlook aspects of this man's personality just because they conflicted with the heartless personage. To catch a monster, you must put yourself in a monster mindset and understand their every idiosyncrasy. Still, with this convoluted man, this might be Byakuya's greatest hunt yet.

"He's good, very good," Byakuya speculated.

"Man, watching you work, Kuchiki-san, it's like watching one of those crime shows." Shinji teased, "You're too good, figuring all of that out in just a few minutes."

"I told ya'," Renji added, gripping Byakuya's shoulder. "It's just like old times."

"And I recognize that look in your eyes, Byakuya," the woman smirked. "It still gives me chills."

"Don't sound so surprised," Byakuya noted, a tinge of smugness covering his words. "It'll take a lot more than a little bit of paper pushing to dull my instinct."

"Oh yeah, just like old times," Shinji grinned.

"Now, show me the rest. I want to see what he does next."

The group watched as the call girl's scattered and shrilled. None taking the time to stop and help, fearing their illicit dealings, or more importantly, their lives, could be in danger if they intervened. Only one remained, the gloved impostor. Quickly, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a red marker, leaving his trademark sloppily written message.

Afterward, he took out a cigarette and lit it up before giving a barren glare towards one of the mobsters. Something must have sounded off behind because he turned quickly, his fingers ghosting over an area that Byakuya assumed housed a veiled weapon of some sort. Though the noise wasn't the dangerous sort, but the 'fatty', as Ikkaku so elegantly put, grousing and coughing in extreme pain. He was on the cement floor, clutching onto the arm of the couch for dear life, as if he could survive through this if only he stayed upright. The two seemed to exchange some words yet there was no audio.

"After this, I'll contact the NPA and tell them to send over someone who specializes in lip reading, since both of them are facing towards the camera. I want that conversation, it could house the lead we need."

With their short conversation done, the man looked directly into the camera, and despite the smirk on his face, those haunting eyes were frigid. The man put his pointer finger under his right eye and pulled the skin down while simultaneously sticking out his tongue, a common symbol of mockery within Japan.

"Sassy and a nice bum, exactly my type," Yoruichi jested.

"Perhaps you two can exchange addresses when we finally catch him," Byakuya spat caustically, never peeling his eyes from the the monitor. "He'll have plenty of time for a pen pal when he's sitting behind bars."

"Wouldn't be the worst guy I've dated," Yoruichi groused.

After the taunting gesture, the screen went black.

Bemused, Byakuya asked, "Did the video cut off there?"

"Actually, that's the most important part, Byakuya. From the time stamp on the video, this happened around eleven at night. Well, that was the same time that an electrical shortage happened in this district." At Byakuya's narrowed brows and shocked face, she continued, "The power was cut three blocks in every direction. Until I watched this video, I had no clue it was correlated."

"Maybe it's just one of those crazy coincidences," Ikkaku mused.

"Coming from the guy who keeps a Shichifukujin wall scroll in his living room and a Daruma doll by his nightstand," Renji mocked. "You've always believed in luck. I'm half certain that's why you stay bald, so ya' can rub your own head for good fortune."

"Ah, shut it. I guess I forgot to do it today, because here I am having to listen to your big mouth."

For a moment, Byakuya sat in contemplative silence. "A coincidence is this crime happening only a couple of days after my decision to pick up the case." Tapping his fingers against the black foam surface, he declared, "No. This was a strategically organized maneuver."

"So these guys are pros," Shinji observed with a grin. "And now we know for a fact that it's these guys, not just one guy."

"Yeah," Renji agreed, "I don't care how good this guy is, there's no way he could be doing this alone. Though I have a feeling that it's always the same one doing the act itself."

"Why?" Ikkaku asked

"After working under the best for so long, I know a thing or two about feeling out a crime scene. Every person leaves something distinct at a crime scene that makes if _feel_ authentically theirs. It's like a bad stench." With a shrug of the shoulders, Renji mused, "Besides, if it ain't broke don't fix it, right? This guy obviously knows what he's doing."

"But why?" Byakuya asked, back turned to the group. "Why three blocks in every direction? This is a failsafe escape plan. With all the commotion and darkness, there's no way our suspect was spotted leaving. Still, he'd only need to cut the power from here to the direction he was traveling. So why the extra?"

A moment of silence came over the group before Ikkaku yawned slightly and awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. "That's an easy one," he mused, getting the attention of Byakuya who turned and looked at him directly. "The guy's boastin', puffin' up his chest is all. They want us to know that they're capable of it and that they won't be intimidated."

"Do you want me to make some rounds, Byakuya-san? Go see if I can bat a few eyes, flash a few smiles, get some neighborhood folks talking?"

"You have a powerful smile, Renji-san, but I highly doubt it can gift a person with the power of night vision."

"Don't waste your breath anyway, the people in this area will tell ya' exactly where to shove your smile."

"Actually," Byakuya corrected, turning back towards the monitor, "Renji has a rather warm presence about him. He always had a knack for getting witnesses to talk. That was something I never had much luck with, getting others to open up." With a sarcastic roll of the eye, Byakuya flatly said, "I can't possibly fathom why."

Howling, Yoruichi nudged the agent slightly. "Yeah, with the way you smile all the time and with your sweet attitude, makes you wonder why you don't have witnesses coming to you."

"If smiles and sweet words were all it took to solve murders, then we'd all be out of a job and replaced by a group of toddlers," Byakuya reasoned, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he eyed the last frame of the video.

The wheels were churning in his head as he stared intently. Everyone stood by waiting for their orders, for they were well versed in the agent's quirks. He was absorbing every sense he'd taken in since he stepped into the room, tossing them over until he saw everything from every possible perspective. He was preparing for his hunt, mentally compiling all of his equipment.

Once the man's innate analytical mind had devised a plan, he wasted no time in picking up the track. "Keibu Hirako-san, we'll be heading a task force compiled of ten other officers, of course, not counting Agent Renji-san. I will leave it to you to compile the folders and records of these chosen agents, and hand them off to me for approval."

"Gotcha', Kuchiki-san, I'll have them for you by noon."

"Make it eleven, and do not make me have to wait on those"

"Geez, you're only back for a whopping thirty minutes and you're already falling back into your old position nice and easy. Careful, you may not want to leave," warned Shinji.

Intertwining her fingers and stretching, Yoruichi said, "Fits like a nicely worn in coat, doesn't it, Byakuya?"

Merely glancing her way, he replied, "Even a comfortable coat is removed in the summer. Now, the longer you sit here chatting, the more apt you become to missing my set deadline. To make up for your time consuming penchant of running your mouth, I'll make your list one person shorter." Turning towards Ikkaku, Byakuya asked, "You're in, Keibu-ho, if you so choose to accept."

Ikkaku smirked slightly, extending his torpid arms behind his head in an aloof fashion. "Ya', I'll do it. Knowing some of the guys on the squad, you'll need someone like me."

"Well you certainly have the bark, but we'll see about the bite," Byakuya cocked an eyebrow dubiously.

Slinging an arm around Ikkaku, the blithe Renji enthused, "Ah, he's right, Byakuya-san. That big ol' head of his is filled with street smarts and gut instinct."

"Yes," Byakuya agreed, "I see that." His voice still didn't sound all too convinced yet he continued. "We need men like that to work this case. So now nine folders, Keibu Hiriko-san."

Walking away, Shinji taunted, "You're too kind to me, Boss man."

With a quick look over his shoulder, Byakuya returned the taunt, "That's Agent Boss Man to you," before giving his attention back to the others. "Keibu-ho, I need a criminal profiler right away. Contact her, brief her, and have her ready for a three o'clock meeting with the task force."

With a nod, Ikkaku departed, leaving only Renji and Yoruichi. "Junsa-buchō Yoruichi-san, I need-"

His orders were cut off by the women pulling out a stack of thin blue binder with an impish grin. "A bottle of sake and your own personal boy toy? Yes, I know, but all I can offer is an neatly organized abridged version of all ten hits so far to provide your task force."

"It seems you're ahead of the game, Yoruichi-san," he noted, sounding mildly impressed while scanning the binders. "Now I remember why I kept you around despite your constant harassment."

"I always did have to one up you, Byakuya-san."

"Say's the Junsa-Buchō to the NPA agent," he said, eyes still gliding across the contents of the binder.

With a flippant throw of the hand, Yoruichi said, "Okay paper pusher, I still out did you at just about everything at the academy, especially Judo. I just don't want to be a Keibu because I've seen how cranky it's made you."

"Yeah, she really did show you up at the police judo competition a couple of years back." Renji smirked, "It was pretty awesome to watch. Yoruichi-san is one of our best officers. If it wasn't for the backwards way of thinking everyone has about women officers, you'd be a keibu-ho or higher."

With a shrug of the shoulder, she chide, "Forget that, If I wanted to be a Keibu or a paper pusher you think I'd let something as archaic as that nonsense stop me? Pfh- I like doing my own thing too much to be tied down like that."

"That just makes you the most stubborn yet talented Junsa-Bucho in all nine units. Homicide has always been grateful for you," Byakuya expressed offhandedly

Eyes still in book, Byakuya felt a swift and vigorous kick to his thigh, making him have to brace the flimsy foam table for leverage. He looked up to a scowling Yoruichi and met her with the same indignation. "Junsa-Bucho, I hope you do not take our friendship as a sign that you can disrespect your superior."

"I was just checking to see if you've been keeping up with your training," she winked. "No way you'd be standing after one of my kicks if you hadn't. You passed."

"All I do is train. I don't need one of my subordinates assaulting me to prove such."

Yoruichi just chuckled loudly at that, her scowl dropping instantly. "Ya' hear that, Big Read? We go through high school, college, and the academy together, and he still refers to me as an underling. How cold." The women mocked shivered.

Renji laughed, smiling brilliantly. This felt nice, standing around in such a breezy way even in a high strung situation. Especially the look of passive enjoyment that shined through Byakuya's edifice of a face. That was what really lit him up. Even if the hardened agent wouldn't admit it, it was refreshing to be doing tangible good everyday again, no matter how small. It felt good to just put the mistakes behind them and start forgiving themselves for the tragedy they'd been unable to prevent. Though he tried to seem unaffected, it was Byakuya who bore the cross of their fallibilities the most. "I know it's hard to tell, Yoruichi-san, but there's love within his frigid words. You just have to listen really, really closely,"

"I already call you both by your first names. What else could be expected of me?"

"I'm not complaining," said Renji. "First name basses was a miracle as it was, took six years of working together everyday."

Byakuya had delved his attention back towards the binder. Through his reading, he managed the smallest smirk before he said, "Yes, and to think I didn't even particularly like you for the first four years. That should make you feel even more achieved."

Lazily leaned against the wall, Renji simpered, "But eventually I wore ya' down, just like I do with everybody. It's the hair." He then flicked the rolled up foil of his now empty cigarette pack at Byakuya as he place the last smoke in his mouth. Byakuya just glared up at him disparagingly and muttered 'child' under his breath.

Rejoining the conversation, Yoruichi said, "So if I'm so great, where's my invitation to be on the task force, huh?"

Flickering his eyes up from the sentence he was reading, Byakuya sighed, "So that's why you kicked me? It's very child like to throw a tantrum over assumptions." Flatly, yet with full eye contact, Byakuya assured, "You're always on my task force. That goes without saying, and you know I don't like wasting words on obvious things. Besides, one way or another, you'd make sure to be on the task force, rather I okayed it or not." Eyeing the woman's bag, he said, "And I suppose you have your own binder."

She packed up her stuff with a wicked grin. "Of course. Did you think for a second that I really thought you could do this without me? I just like making you say nice things. It's like watching a dog try to lick peanut butter off it's nose, hopeless yet somehow still really funny and cute."

"Mh," Byakuya gave a noncommittal huffed, "Use those harassment techniques for good and see if you can't rush order the forensic units final report." Narrowing his eyebrows, he reminded, "No galavanting, I need you back by three. We need to determine what kind of poison they used and if we can possibly track where or how it was purchased."

Picking up her bag and slinging it around her shoulder, Yoruichi winked in the two men's direction before walking towards the stairs. "You boys have fun playing cops for a while," she waved over her shoulder.

Renji gave a humorous look towards the women before she walked up the stairs. Then he gave his attention back to Byakuya, who was still glued to the laminated pages of The Ghost and every track he left behind, everyone so silent, but deadly. It wasn't the fact that Byakuya had already read every single case report in the assassin's file until he knew them better than the Bushido code he build his policing around, it was the involuntary twitch of the eyebrow and intense eyes that were concerning. Years of partnership left Renji well aware of the little quirks of Byakuya better than the agent would ever openly admit to, and eyebrow twitching usually signified confusion or frustration.

Under his breath, Byakuya mumbled, "He didn't take any of it.."

"Byakuya?" Renji said, giving him an odd look. Often, when they were alone, Renji dropped any of the social expected formality. Some people genuinely didn't care about that kind of stuff, like Yoruichi and Ikkaku, but Byakuya held such formalities as apart of his pride and code of ethics. So the fact that he allowed it was amazing in and of itself.

After another moment of gaping at the pages, he looked up and cleared his throat while closing the book. "Yes, Renji-san, we have plenty of work to do ourselves. First we're going to go locate those women from last night and question them, then we're going to start readying ourselves for this meeting later today."

Flexing his arm and putting a hand on his bicep to show his eagerness, excited about doing field work for the first time in a year, Renji boomed, "You had me at ladies. Let's do this!"

Knowing Renji to be a complete bumbling mess around exposed women, to the point he could barely look to enjoy what was causing his awkwardness, Byakuya found Renji's declaration amusing. "I'd say you charm the pants right off of them with your childish blushing, but they're not to keen on those, yes?" Byakuya deadpanned, now walking towards the stairs.

The coroners were wrapping up bodies as all on scene police officers wrapped up their work. The two agents were the only ones left lingering besides the still corpses. It was a weird life, being a homicide detective. After you did it for so long, you'd be surprised how relaxed you could allow yourself to be, even with the big dead elephant in the room.

Walking behind in suit, Renji pleaded, "Oi! Oi! Byakuya, let's stop and get some Dried yakisoba for the trip. I didn't eat this morning"

"Absolutely not. You should have ate already. We're investigating murder, not going for an outing."

"Ug, that's why I need it ! What taste better with Justice than yakisoba?" Renji asked lamely.

"Cigarettes."

"Well I need those too! I just smoked my last one. Come on, let's stop by the store. It'll take five minutes."

Now at the top of the stairs, Byakuya huffed, "I see somethings never change, you're still a unprepared man child. I predicted this and bought your brand of cigarettes while I picked up mine this morning. We'll stop at the restaurant next door and get a seaweed salad or something akin to it. I can't have you lagging latter by running your body down with such junk food."

Smiling widely, Renji nudged the agent slightly. "Look at you being concerned for me. I'm going to have to tell Yoruichi about this."

Mutely, Byakuya gave the man an aslant look. "Fine. No cigarettes for you."

"What? Wait, but why?"


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Hello my beautiful readers! I got a fair amount of followers for this story just off my first chapter, so I decided to go ahead and give you guys the second! Please keep in mind that while this is a romantic fic, the crime/psychological aspects of this story are just as important. As my beta says, it's like watching Bones or CSI. The romantic aspects will take a while to show up, but your patience will be rewarded.**

 **I'll respond to comments at the bottom. I got quite a few followers, but not to much feedback. Please remember that the more you comment on this story, the more I'll find time to update it. I'm still working on other stories, but if people take a liking to this one more, I'll throw a little more of my time behind it. Though, for those reading my other stories, don't worry, I'll still be updating those regularly.**

 **My beta is reading this story for the sake of leaving me commentary, however she isn't editing it. While I have pretty good grammar over all, I sometimes make silly mistakes or overlook something. If you see anything major that just peeves you, let me know.**

 **The terms to remember are phrases that pop up in this chapter. I was also thinking, because this story is get's so convoluted, that I should start each chapter with a summary of the last. Let me know if you think that would be helpful!**

 **Good Vibes.**

 **Terms to remember**

 **Yakuza: This is the Japanese mob. This includes three main families, non of with are connected.**

 **Inagawa Kai: This is the third largest family in the Yakuza and their located mainly in Tokyo.**

 **Ishikawa Goemon: The is basically the Japanese version of robin hood.**

 **Sensei: Sensei means a few different things, but in the context of this chapter, it means doctor.**

 **Yōgisha: This is a term for suspects in Japan. Being even suspected of a crime in Japan basically makes you the lowest of the low and you usually won't be addressed with the formal honorific.**

 **M.O: This means model operandi(It's a latin term) It's used by law enforcement to describe a particular manner a crime is committed or habits a criminal holds.**

 **xXx**

 **The mind of a monster.**

Chosen officers of the homicide unit were filling in one after the other, non dare, nor wanted to, be late. For most had miss him, yet just as importantly, feared him. Kuchiki Byakuya didn't do tardiness. Let acrimonious wrath fall down for those who entered after them.

The day of trailing left the agents with nothing solid. That was one track that had died out. Apparently, one of the girls hadn't shown up to the call, however, the red-lights finest, the most hush-hush, top-dollar ladies for the most low-down scum, said she's never called out and simply hadn't shown up. Though, a girl parading as her replacement had shown up calling herself- himself- Masa, therefor the company had never been informed of her absence. Afterwards, the duo made a pitstop at the unheard from call girl's apartment and found her safely in her home. Apparently she had fallen into a deep sleep out of nowhere and woke up feeling 'under the weather.' No doubt it was The Ghost's handy work.

Masa meant straightforward and honest. Byakuya thought the irony was almost palpable and started to wonder if every single thing this man did was intentional.

As the two walked into the precinct, Byakuya was close to breaking his own timeliness commandment. Either way, he strutted into the department like the assiduous agent he was, carrying his cigarette right past the threshold and towards the meeting hall.

"Hey, isn't that Keibuho Yumichika-san from forensics with Yoruichi-san?" asked Renji

Byakuya noticed the couple right before they turned the corner a few paces ahead of them. "I tell her to bring me a report and she brings me the units Keibuho. I suppose I shouldn't complain."

Renji laughed. "What do the Americans say? Straight from the horse's mouth, I believe. If the horse is here, that means it has something good to say."

Walking into the meeting, everyone was gathered. As the two agents entered, the task force stood and bowed, giving their customary greetings and smiles. Yumichika and Yoruichi stood up at the front, speaking to Shinji.

"Hello Kibeho Ayasegawa Yumichika-san," Byakuya greeted urgently. "What do I owe this honor?"

"Does that ever get tiring," Yoruichi interrupted, "saying so many words every time you address someone?"

Byakuya merely huffed in dignification and Yumichika giggled slightly.

"Hello Agent Kuchiki-san. I know it's unusual for someone to come down themselves, but this report is rather convoluted. I thought I'd save you some trouble and explain it to you in layman terms. Also," he smiled brightly, "I wanted to greet you properly, since we'll be working together again."

"Yes. I do appreciate you taking the time to do this. It's a pleasure to be working with you once more."

"Likewise, and it's no problem at all. Homicide has always been where I get my most interesting cases. You guys keep me vital and youthful," he said, handing over a file with his final report. And Byakuya actually smiled, which made Ikkaku want to kick his habitually glacier like face in. He smirked occasionally, but smiles knew no home on Kuchiki's face. Though he knew that this probably had little to do with the agent actually liking Yumichika and more to do with the fact that the forensic officer was such a sociable and charming person that even Byakuya couldn't help but return some of that temperament. Realizing this, Ikkaku merely scoffed an envious scoff to himself and continued to listen.

"So your victims were murdered with cyanide," Yumichika explained. At Byakuya's fretted brows, Yumichika said, "I know, I had the same reaction at first. It's rather easily obtained and not all so illegal. However, this poison had a lot to say when I looked closer. It's Sodium cyanide, a water soluble type, but that's not the most interesting part. It's mixed with seawater. This is a common practice among illegal cyanide fishermen. It breaks down into cyanide ions and acts much like carbon monoxide poison."

"So you believe that they could have obtained this through illegal fishermen?"

Tilting his head as if to say 'not quite', Yumichika clarified, "Yes and no. These guys seem rather professional. So their supplier is probably a fisherman, but not just some random one. I expect whoever sold this to them is just as professional and skilled in poison dealing as they are in illegal fishing."

"Illegal fishing is rampant in Tokyo. Finding the source will be quite the challenge, if possible at all." Byakuya frowned slightly.

"Agent Kuchiki-san, you have such little faith in me," the man grinned. "You don't think I'd run all the way down here just to tell you that, do you? I'm insulted," he teased.

Shinji bantered something about how he should get use to that feeling around Byakuya and Byakuya replied with all the charming arrogant air that characterized him. "I suppose even a man of my prevailing abilities can dull somewhat after a year. Excuse me, I'm still oiling my gears, so to speak."

The officer smiled and said, "I'll let you off the hook this time" before he clarified. "When tested, I found traces of a rare alga called Symbiodinium trenchi. It lives on coral reefs and started popping up about six years ago as a natural defense to global warming, and has just recently found it's way close to Japan. The only island within Japan's domain that houses this kind of alga is Okinotorishima. It's completely inhabited, a paradisiacal dream for illegal fishermen. The island does house a research facility, but they could easily be being payed off or blackmailed."

"This is a great start. Thank you for work, Kibeho Ayasegawa Yumichika-san." Byakuya's fingers curled around the file, his pulse picking up slightly at the development. It looked like he found his next track, and that only made him more hunt ready. After what happened before he was promoted, he thought this sensation was lost to him. That adrenaline he felt when in the thick of a case, it could be so overtaking, addictive even. It made him feel so human, as if his existence mattered the most when he was putting away the inhumane. He relished and took pride in using all the skills and knowledge he had spent years cultivating to take down those the government let roam. Like any addiction, it came with much sorrow and lose. There were cases he couldn't forget and people he'd never get back because of this addiction, and for that he felt a guilt he could not express at the almost euphoric feeling washing over him once more. This had to be his last case.

Pushing past his huntsman high, he thought logically. "Though, knowing this group, this could be some elaborate way to make us lose their scent. We'll look into it as soon as possible."

After exchanging good bye's, Yumichika headed out, winking at Ikkaku on his way out the room.

With that, Byakuya stood at attention, Shinji and Renji to his side. The room was rather simple, a large round table with all needed officers seated in wait, an outdated never ending coffee pot that wouldn't be replaced due to funding shortages, a tea kettle, a projection screen, piercing fluorescent lights, and of course, ash trays galore.

Clearing his throat, Byakuya began. "All of you in this room are acquainted with me and accustomed to how I run things, but It has been a year, so let's refresh." Giving a passive glare around the room, Byakuya said, "Take note of this dreary room because this is where you'll be spending a large amount of time until this case is closed. If you don't drink coffee, I'd pick up the habit, and I'd make sure to bring food unless you want to starve. There will be sleepless nights, but you are not to nap on my time nor near this table. I do not abide lateness and I hold no sympathy for excuses."

He scanned the room to see a mix of weary and resolute expressions. "You're all here because you're extremely capable officers, the best of this unit. Therefore, I expect the best. Also, each of you is here by choice, so In this room, your personal ongoings are of no concern. If this rigor is not something you can balance with your personal life, then you'll lose no respect from me if you chose to reject this position. Lastly, and most importantly," his voice darkened a hair, filling the room with a seriousness that everyone took in stride. "I know that this case is in a moral gray area for some. I'll even admit, it's not your typical bad guy we're dealing with. However, despite what convictions you may hold, you're not to let them cloud our mission. If you feel as if you cannot think objectively and put aside your own beliefs, then remove yourself at once. We're treating this like any other case. Do we have an understanding?"

A resigned silence covered the room, not a single person budging from their spot nor even making eye contact with the door. If fact, there were quite a few pleased smiles. These were career cops, officers who took joy in defending and abiding by the law. It was that reason that, despite how harsh his opening speech may have appeared, that the officers who were brave enough to work homicide revered the man as a great leader. He was tough yet fair, valiant and virtuous, loyal and cunning, and most were thrilled to have the chance to work with him again. To truly appreciate the way Byakuya Kuchiki solved crime, it needed to be experienced. For the men and women in this room, not a single oath was took without great consideration. The police in Japan had been founded by samurais and built off of those same dogma's held by their predecessors. This was a proud group of individuals, all gunning for the chance to make their career's with this once in a lifetime case.

Byakuya simply nodded at this. "Alright then. This unit is not only known for it's success rate, but personally, I know it to be filled with extremely effectual officers. You're all not only brimming with talent and strong will, but you're also filled with integrity. I know we will solve this case, and I will assist you with all of my abilities." Glancing to Shinji, Byakuya smirked and deadpanned, "I'm happy, yet equally surprised, that my influence has been carried out through Keibu Hirako-san."

The group laughed at this while Shinji replied, "Nah, I'm a big old softie. You just struck a fear in them that didn't leave for a whole year."

"Despite your laid back appearance, I know you to be a superb Kibeu. Your methods just happen to be a tad bit more gentler than mine."

"We did always have that good cop bad cop thing going for us," Shinji smirked.

"Junsa-Bucho Yoruichi-san, please pull up the slide." After a few brief moments, the projector was fully operational, displaying a crime scene photo from what they believed to be The Ghost's first hit. Sprawled bodies covered a high class restaurant that had been rented out by some high tier Inagawa-Kai members: two _wakagashira and three fuku-honbucho_ who each governed several gangs within a region. Five meals and two bottles of sake later, they'd started feeling oddly sick and their eyesight started to deteriorate. This wasn't on account of the alcohol. They're food had been garnished with high doses of some genetically modified hemlock and worked unusually fast. By the time they realized what was happening, the first man fell down, completely paralyzed. There was no one to save by the time the ambulance was on the scene.

"What we're dealing with here is unprecedented. Trust that the group doing this is organized and impeccably trained across the board. Hackers, professional fighters, poison dealers, makeup designers, they have plenty of resources. By comparing the way these murders were executed, to the handwriting left at the last two scenes, we believe the person who commits the murders is the same man every time." A picture of the disguised man popped up on the screen. "The Ghost himself is more than likely trained in a number of fighting styles, in which he utilizes silent killing techniques. Trust that he know's our judo and quite a bit more. From the couple of hits that did involve hand to hand combat, it seemed the man was using a fighting style called Krav Maga, which does not concern itself with the safety of others and is intended to kill as quickly and effectively as possible. Also, his ability to examine and reconnoitre the places the murders were held tells us he's also proficient in skills such as espionage. Over all, as a killer, this man is proficient and deadly, swift and untraceable. He is a natural assistant only made more fierce by this team he has backing him."

Gesturing for Yoruichi to click to the next slide, he continued. "Though I talked about his hand to hand skills, this man is a rather passive killer. He has no one particular way of killing other than clean, so his techniques range and are always chosen based on a situation to situation basis. Though, even in the unpredictable nature of these hits, there is still predictability that we can gage. For one, the murders are performed in very detached manners. Particularly, he is fond of poisonous and toxic gasses. Though he is not above creative methods." Looking towards the screen, he noted the ghastly display. "His largest and probably his easiest hit was twenty five men at the same time. He was able to lock them in the confines of their meeting location and bust a major pipe, drowning them all."

"He has yet to use a gun in an altercation, however, I'm certain that he carries one and is probably more efficient than any Japanese officer could hope to be, seeing as they're hardly utilized. I believe the group holds back on using guns because they're harder to obtain and veil, not to mention, they tend to leave quite the mess. His weapon of choice is a fourteen inch, nylon strung nunchaku and his trademark is killing silently, quickly, and without blood from behind. Still, even he's only used this method twice, one of those times being at the human trafficking hit last month."

"His stealthy nature alone will make this a challenge, but more so, it's difficult to find a place to start looking when the murderer is in no way connected personally to the victims. So we'll need to deduct what we can about this man to paint a clearer picture. We know this man is no older than thirty and of Japanese descent, probably with a background in military and/or law enforcement." Cocking an eyebrow, the man speculated, "In fact, he could very well still be in law enforcement."

"From the hits he choses, I believe who ever this man is has some personal stake in this. Though the way he kills is rather detached, there must be something that prompted him to become this modern day Ishikawa Goemon. The Forty Seven Ronin makes me believe this is a personal enmity with law enforcement, and the government in general, towards their indulgent treatment for the Yakuza. Possibly he had family members taken at the hands of the Yakuza and felt spite towards law enforcement."

The agent became more austere than usual, his voice heavy with the sound of importance. "However, from the composed and cold manner this man kills to the dead look of his eyes, one thing is very clear to me: he's unfeeling and can kill a man without a moment's hesitation. It's possible he feels nothing towards other people at all and takes killing as a trivial manner. A man like that is dangerous. We can not discount the possibility that he'd be willing to kill an officer or a civilian need be."

From beside Ikkaku, a beautifully aged women with long razor straight black hair and soft blue eyes commented. "Very astute observations, Agent Kuchiki-san. Though, I do believe your theory could be refined a bit."

"Hello, Unohana sensei," he nodded in her direction. "I was actually about to hand the room over to you. I'm sure your expertise could shine a great deal of light on who we're dealing with."

The women walked over to join the agent's standing up front. "Well four hours was not much of a notice. Luckily for you, I had been following this case closely," she said with a tender smile.

"I figured as much. You have always enjoyed an interesting case, and The Ghost is quite the conundrum." Turning to address the room, he explained, "Many of you may know Unohana sensei from prior cases. She has her doctorate in clinical forensic psychology and works as a profiler. She'll be helping us narrow in our search." Gesturing for her to take his spot, he said, "The room is all yours."

With that, Renji, Byakuya, and Shinji also sat around the table as the women sat down some files on the table and smiled at the room. "I'd first like to clarify that without actually sitting down with a yōgisha, everything is educated speculation. However, there are certain personality traits that a crime scene leaves behind which threads a much clearer story, you just have to know what perspective to look at things from. Certainly, this man's crimes show us his story is much more interesting than it maybe appear on the surface."

"I agree," she continued, "about the the history in law enforcement. Possibly military also. Though," she tapped her chin inquisitively and stepped closer to the screen. Pointing at the projected images, she proclaimed, "If Agent Kuchiki's theory is correct, that these crimes are based in an antipathy towards law enforcement's hands off treatment towards the Yakuza, and I believe it is, then it's safe to say that he is no friend of the police, or more so, that the police is no friends of his. With his distaste towards law enforcement, I can't imagine him residing amongst them." She turned back to the attentive assemblage. "He's low key. With the work he's doing, I doubt he's an active officer." The woman's lips vibrated thoughtfully as she took a sip of her coffee. Breaking her lips from the cup, she reasoned, "He's a lone wolf, I presume. This mission of theirs, it's this man's baby."

Agent Arabi leaned his head back lazily in his swivel chair and shut his eyes in a thoughtful manner. Leaning forward, he perched his cigarette in the crevice of the glass ashtray situated between himself and Byakuya. "What about his group? How can we be certain that it isn't someone in the background who's pulling the strings or orchestrating this whole operation."

"Or maybe they hired him," Shinji poised. "The way he kills so coldly and meticulously, it seems very professional."

"Ah," Unohana pointed out, "I did say it was his baby, but it does take a village, as they say. Still I have little doubt he's the inciter. First off, hired swords are often hired to do singular hit jobs that have little moral grounding. Something of this magnitude, these murders which are based in personal morals and have so many risk is not the typical MO for a hired killer. No professional assassin would intertwine themselves in something so convoluted. More so, this operation takes a lot of trust and a lot to gain. Everyone within this group has a reason for being there, and it it's not about money. These people trust each other and work towards a common goal, at least to a certain extent. You can't exactly trust a professional killer, they're not known for their virtue or morals," she speculated with a hint of amusement in her voice. "I believe he dirties his own hands because he has the most to gain. That leads me to think that it was this man, the one we're calling The Ghost, who actually orchestrated and formed a team for this engagement. So we know what they're trying to accomplish, but the why will help us narrow down the search"

Blowing out a cloud of smoke, Byakuya crossed his legs and poised, "I still stand by my earlier statement. Someone doesn't just do something so dangerous and life altering without provocation. I believe something very personal happened to this man, a tragedy perhaps, a death of a loved one that sent him over the edge."

"Or it's just some twisted guy playing god," Renji speculated.

"If that was the case, why would he have these people backing him? A group this organized wouldn't just throw their weight behind some wacko throwing down arbitrary divine justice. These guys behind him probably all have their own reasons for doing this too, tragedy or not." Shinji commented, stretching his bone-weary body to refresh his coffee cup.

"God does have disciples," Renji noted, chewing on a coffee stirrer.

"Though I do believe this man is playing god, no matter how just he believes himself to be, I agree with Hirako-san. I don't think these are the action of some maniac with an inflated sense of self. It lacks the emotion, the joy, and the self aggrandizing that someone of that temperament would have."

"You say playing god, Agent Kuchiki-san, but is that necessarily a fair assessment?" Unohana paced back and forth, the tips of her heels echoing from the laminate tile floors. "Do we not have some unspoken international no-no's that most civilized humans agree upon, such a murder or rape? Military who have to take the lives of others based on what they believe is right or what their government believes is right, is that playing god? What about the death penalty? As a race, we've been murdering for the greater good since our inception, and for the most part, it's truly in the name of justice over personal egotism."

"Look at the nature of each of his crimes," she threw Byakuya a deliberate look, her crystal eyes hardening in thoughtfulness. "He only murders high trier members or fodder that have been at the right hand of upper Yakuza members for years. They're all murders. He's never once killed any under aged members or basic fodder, which make up the foundation of the Yakuza. It be a different conversation if he was killing anyone that broke the law, like petty thieves or prostitutes, anyone who didn't fit into a skewed vision of his own righteous utopia, but that's not what this man's after. In fact, he even saved that call girls life, though it was of no benefit to himself. Also, as I'm sure you've noticed, Agent Kuchiki-san," she hummed, tapping the edge of the wooden table in front of Byakuya. "At the seven out of ten hits, there was a large amount of money, all left at the scene. If this man thought of himself as some god among men, wouldn't he feel entitled to the money?"

She shook her head in a definitive no. "This man's intention is glaring, from the nature of his crimes, to the forty-seven ronin, he want's to protect the people from the Yakuza because he feels the government is leaving behind a great deal of slack. His intentions are not something selfish like godship, but built on a strong moral code."

With the fingertips of one hand pressed to their corresponding digits, Byakuya held his hands at chin level, apprehensively swallowing down the woman's words. He saw the truth in them, but something about the idea conflicted him. Those cold unfeeling eyes that seemed to know no love simply wanted to protect the people of Japan? Why? Why when it was so obvious he felt nothing towards the human condition with the way he could watch the light leave a man's eyes and not even flinch? The cadaverous eyes of utter nullity he wore as he spoke to an expiring Fujimoto, they could glaciate the soul of a mere mortal. Wouldn't someone with the slightest bit of compassion living within his chest, no matter how justified the cause, show even a whisper of remorse or the sympathy that's supposedly innate to the nature of being a human being? What kind of hybrid was this enigma? For he was not fully a monster, but he most certainly wasn't fully a man.

"You almost sound as if you agree with his actions, Unohana Sensei," pondered Byakuya.

"Rather I agree or disagree is not the issue, Agent Kuchiki-san," Unohana explained, her soft yet warning smile in full action. "I'm simply assessing how The Ghost thinks and his motives. I agree with you, that possibly some tragedy happened to send him over the edge. What that was could be anyone's guess. It could've been a case where the Yakuza were involved and the police idled their hands, leading to deaths. Perhaps he had a friend, lover, or family member who was taken at the hands of the Yakuza, and the police did nothing. He definitely has a hero complex, that is certain. He want's to protect people so the same tragedy doesn't befall on their heads."

Something about the man's motives and the stimulate behind them reminded Byakuya of himself, almost bitterly so. Yet there was a fine line between the two of them, and this stranger had stepped into a territory of no return. Once you step over said line, anything can become justifiable if it's for your convictions. What happened when the death of an innocent stood in between him and continuing to dish out his own personal justice, would that moral code mean anything then? Byakuya didn't believe so, and that's where their paths split them greatly.

As if he read Byakuya's thoughts, Renji asked, "The way he kills people in such a detached manner, the look of nothing in his eyes when he killed those men, how could such a sociopath have the strong moral code you're depicting."

"You're correct that the way he kills is very detached, all ten of them. There done in such a professional and swift manner, that it could be said the man behind them is very phlegmatic towards the lives he takes, that he doesn't feel anything such as remorse or compassion that most people would feel when taking a life." Picking up a binder and turning to a specific page, she laid it back on the table opened to a still shot of The Ghost retrieved from the video footage. "I watched the video footage, so I know what you mean by the dead eyes and frigid temperament," she said, trailing the pad of her finger along the edges of the man's prosthetic covered face, her eyes following in suit. "However," she looked back up to the group, "Sociopathic would not be the correct term to describe this man. It's a very broad term people like to throw around when someone does something morally taboo, but the human psyche is much more complex than that. This man is defined by his lack of emotions, but as a general rule, sociopaths are extremely emotional, they display behavioral problems, a lack of self control, a sociopath would most likely show a personal enjoyment in these murders. "

"Here is another psychological term for you," the profiler said, a hit of condensation behind her amicable tone. "Clinical apathy. Apathy is usual associated with depression, whereas clinical apathy is associated with dissociation. Dissociation is a partial or complete disruption of the normal integration of a person's conscious or psychological functioning. It's most commonly a response to trauma and it's the psyche's way of distancing itself from an experience that it can't handle. If your theory is corrected, Agent Kuchiki-san, his apathy could be directly related to his trauma. That certainly make more sense than calling him sociopathic, since sociopaths have very little consciousness whereas this man does, or so I believe. It's simple for him to kill, because he justifies it morally and feels nothing towards it. In fact, without this apathy, he'd probably still feel the same way. It just wouldn't be so simple for him."

The seasoned Agent sat in muteness, the look of deep speculation dancing in his eyes and the only sounds filling the room were vibrating overhead lights and the occasional squeak of a chair. The iron curtain of rumination was one no one would open, but merely wait to be pulled back by Byakuya's much deliberated assessment.

Renji addressed the man with a glare of idolatry, notting how the man's gray orbs were shadowed, darkened when ever he was deep in thought.

"Junso-Bucho Yoruichi- san, please start gathering any files on officers who retired or were discharged within the last five years. Only men under thirty. The task force will start looking through them for cases related to the Yakuza, and if nothing shows up there, we'll comb through their personal lives and backgrounds, try to find something Yakuza related there. This will be a case solved by hours of grunt work."

Yoruichi stood to attention, but stopped in front of Byakuya before she left. "And I suppose you'll be taking a stack of folders too, Byakuya?" The woman smirked, anchoring her hand on her hip.

"Of course," Byakuya assured, "I certainly can't allow my men to dirty their hands while I sit idly. What kind of leader would I be? Also," the man added, an impish tonality gleaming passed his flat demeanor, "searching is half the fun of the hunt, Yoruichi- san."

The woman shook head brilliantly and went off in search of the files. "You might have _too_ much fun on this one, Byakuya-san," Renji poised.

"You may even go over your two month record for an unsolved case," Shinji added, "with how elusive this guy is."

Byakuya shrugged his shoulders. "I know my limits, so you may be right on that." The agent finished the last gulp of his coffee, sat the cup on the table, and softly tapped on the styrofoam edge. "Though it would be a worthy opponent if that were to happen. Either way, he will be caught."

"Kuchiki-san, I've been thinking, you believe this man is no older than thirty, correct?" asked Shinji.

"Yes, from his stature and from the little bit of natural skin I could see under his disguise, I believe that's the oldest he could be. Though it's more likely he's around twenty eight."

"If he was a soldier or an officer, and some kind of tragedy did occur, it doesn't leave a lot of time in between to form this super organized high tech assassination team."

Byakuya nodded in agreement. "Yes, I've thought of that also. These connection couldn't have been new. If something did happen to send him over the edge, he most like already had knew these individuals."

"Then isn't it possible he always had these connection, and they've been planning their attack for years now? There's no way to know if we're grasping at straws with this tragedy thing," Ikkaku speculated. "We can't even be certain he was a cop or in the military."

"It fit's the killer's M.O," the profiler butted it. "There's no way to know for certain, at least right now, but it seems likely based on an algorithm we used. One which is based off of thousands of cases and criminal profiles."

"It especially fits with his protector complex," Byakuya backed up. "Even without this algorithm, from years of cases, you learn that criminals have patterns, habits that they share. It just seems a little off. True, he's likely had these connections for a while, but why start now? If he was a cop, it would make sense that something drastic happened to change his beliefs. These crimes are unprecedented, so something had to have occurred for this group to just start killing this way, and I believe that reason can be found behind their frontman's personal life."

"Yeah, but it still make you wonder why a normal old cop would have all of these connections," Ikkaku groused, popping a cigaret in his mouth as he popped the kinks from his neck.

"I never said he was a normal cop," Byakuya pointed out, erecting an eyebrow at the man as he went to refill his coffee.

"Criminal connections?" Renji thought out loud.

"Yeah, a bunch of criminals turned good guys, fighting the evil of Japan. Sounds likely," Ikkaku mocked.

Swiveling in his chair with all of his misplaced energy, Renji shrugged his shoulders. "You're probably right."

"That may be more than we can hope to figure out with the information at hand, gentleman." Unohana smiled, gathering up her belongs and placing them in her bag. Nodding towards the agent, she announced, "I shall be taking my leave now."

"Thank you for your help as always, Unohana-sensi," Byakuya bowed slightly.

Lines creased from the woman's grin, showing decades of wisdom through her gentle gesture. "I'm sure you'll catch him, Agent Kuchiki- san. You two are very much different sides of the same coin."

Hand gripping tighter around the styrofoam, his fingers searing slightly from the freshly poured liquid, he almost crushed the fragile cup. "Yes, I suppose you're right," he conceded.

With one more smile, the woman was out the door.

Almost in synch with the woman leaving, Yoruichi popped back in. "Byakuya-san, I was on my way to get those files, but a fax came through from the NPA." Handing the man the papers, she explained, "It's the lip translation from the video."

Earnestly, the man's eyes glistened over the pages. His usually stony expression moving minutely, the words causing him a discomfort he tried to conceal.

Noticing the look, Renji pleaded, "Come on, tell us what it says."

 **xXx**

 **clarit: Your comment made me smile! I put a lot of work in, so it makes me happy that it can seen in my writing. Lol, right? I love the idea of these two just taunting each other, being all sassy. I usually write Ichigo as the bottom, but that's more because Byakuya's not the bashful type at all. He's mega confident and mature. Yeah, he's reserved, but if he decided he wanted Ichigo he'd get it. Whereas Ichigo has always been shown to be shy about that kind of stuff. I hope your able to read the Yumi and Ikkaku part of the story one day! Yeah, I was so serious about noting every time something like that came up because I know a lot of people are easily triggered. I'm sorry my ByaIchi part of the story has been kind of lagging, but it's just the way the pacing of the plot ended up working out. Starting in the next chapter, the'll be much more prominent. I can't wait either, their my OTP and I love writing them, so the slow burns are pretty hard on me too. haha. :) Good vibes ~ Ashes.**

 **siwon611: Thank's love. You're always following and keeping up with my stories, and I dig that. You're the real MVP, darling. :) May the good vibes stay with you ~ Ashes.**

 **Tee: I hope you liked this update just as much! Thank's for the support. :) Good vibes ~ Ashes.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys. So I'm back with a new chapter way sooner than I thought I'd be. I'm just so hyped for this story, and your feedback and eagerness has only made me more hyped. Though, honestly, I have been writing this story much longer than I have been posting it, so this chapter actually has been mostly done for a while now. For people reading my other A.U, never fear, I'm almost done with that chapter also, I just have to edit it.**

 **Anyway, after talking to my beta, I feel as if I should preface this with a sort of explanation, because I know some people are going to take issue with the way I characterize. So let me start by saying, Ichigo is not going to be all to much like his cannon self. I'm sure this isn't much of a surprise, considering the primes of this story. In some ways he will be and in some ways he will not. This will make more sense as you read. However, every personality change he has is do to a trauma induced mental issue that becomes a corner stone in this story. There are things he'll do in this story that you may not like, but as a writer, I firmly believe that morals make for bad art. What I mean by this is, characters don't exist to fit our personal moral standings, and if we try to make them such, it can make for really boring characters and a really boring story. I think people are scared to explore the darker parts of the human psyche or negative character development, but it's probably my favorite thing to write about. This world is beautiful, but alas, it's also a very dreary and savage place. I like writing stories where people grow from these dark places. I think it's much more interesting to see him start off in this adversity and for him to grow and develop into a more cannon version of himself as the story goes. I hope my readers feel the same as well.**

 **Also, if you've read this far and you're honestly expecting Ichigo to be his "normal" cannon self, then I must I have failed as a writer. lol**

 **If you're wondering about the title's name, heres a little bit about it: Wounded healer is a psychological termed coined by Carl Jung that refers to a person who is not born nor created, but through conquering adversity and extreme pain, they create themselves. Despite their wounds, they shine a light for others, protecting people ("Healing") becoming their new sense of purpose. Technically, to be considered a wounded healer, one must tend to their own wounds and cope with them. Ichigo has not, but I still consider his character on the path to being one, albeit a really long path full of tons of crazy shit.**

 **Disclaimer** **: Okay, so I don't really know how to explain this without ruining something or making it sound weird, so bare with me. The last scene in this chapter mentions sexual assault in it, but even the assault in question isn't techinuqly assault. (I know, sounds weird, right? It'll make sense when you read) I feel obligated to put up disclaimers about anything trigger worthy even if it's mild, which I believe for this to be. However, I grew up in a crazy liberal family where little was off limits, so very few things really get to me. I'm mega desensitize. lol. Basically, just read at your own risk.**

 **Tears to know(This is the order they show up in the chapter)**

 **Fuzoku: someone who works in the sex industry, i.e. adult films, brothel**

 **Gaki: A young punk**

 **Tachi/Neko: Top/bottom**

 **Shatei: What the Yakuza call little brothers. Basically the individual members of a gang.**

 **Oyabun: What the Yakuza call their family head**

 **Shateiagashira: regional bosses**

 **Kustotiare: Literately means shit drip. This is an insult in Japan.**

 **Shaba: Slang for the drugs the Yakuza sell.**

 **Kyodai: What the Yakuza call big brothers. Basically the bosses of individual gangs.**

 **Good Vibes ~ Ashes.**

 **This ain't no place for no hero.**

 **This ain't no place for no better man.**

 **This ain't no place for no hero**

 **to call home.**

 **-The Heavy**

 **xXx**

 **The Wounded Healer**

Nothing.

While looking into the glazed over eyes of a neatly disposed of mobster, his enlarged pupils staring off aimlessly, peacefully, Ichigo felt nothing. There was no sorrow or guilt, no joy or even accomplishment. It was only his self indoctrinated moral code that allowed him the knowledge that this was a life worth taking, that in some infinitesimal manner, Ichigo succeeded in saving someone.

This wasn't for the vengeance of all the lives these men had accumulatively stolen in their paths of depravity, but for all of the faceless victims that would have been. By taking these four lives, these could have been victims would remain hypothetical. Those faces that would remain unknown until they were canvassing missing person flyers or the local news would never have the chance to be recognized, lamented, to be another body in the syndicate's carnival corps, to haunt the streets of Tokyo with their last captured smiles hanging from a lamp post.

Ichigo had stopped these possible victims from being reduced to a mere memory, a blown up arrangement of pixels on a piece of printer paper as the proof of their existence. He didn't need the feeling of achievement when his own self awareness understood exactly what was at stake.

He needed no validation, not even from himself.

Even with the last bit of light and human emotion poached from the man's eyes, they were animated when compared to the barren eye's that met his. For only a completely extinct wasteland lied within those glossy mirrors. Galaxies grew within Ichigo, but not a single one habitable.

The only thing he felt were blisters on his feet from the tight squeeze of heels cutting off his circulation, sweat beads cascading down his brow from mounds of makeup, and a new reverence for the brave women who dressed as such. All he felt was a need to remove the insufferable torture device that women referred to as panty hose chafing at his skin and contorting his junk in unnatural ways.

Sudden heaving and gargling made Ichigo turn swiftly, his hand ghosting over one of the three perfectly concealed weapons he had on his person. That defensive stature mellowed at the sight of Fujimoto looking like a squeezed lemon in his chi chi yellow suit, his fatty bulges oozing from the disheveled fabric and two chins dripping with saliva.

Standing in front of the man while puffing on a filterless cigarette, Ichigo said, "I guess I should have used a little more, I didn't account for your weight." With no genuine sympathy, Ichigo gave a flippant apology before he said, "Time's are tough and poison isn't cheap." Inhaling and exhaling a mound of bitter smoke, Ichigo finished, "I gotta be economical."

In the midst of death, Fujimoto grunted humorously and gave an aslant glare across the room. "There's enough money to poison every member of the Inagawa-kai in that bag. Aren't you going to take it?"

"I don't want your blood money," Ichigo asserted flatly before perching his cigarette between his lips and throwing his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. The smoke rolled over his eyes as he inhaled, burning slightly.

Eyeing the sprawled out man dubiously, Ichigo inquired, "Should I worry about you trying to pull a weapon on me or something?" Though his tone was more than mocking, seeing that Fuji could barely keep his balance while sitting.

Fujimoto heaved gruffly once more, this time louder and much more death like. "Even bad men are men," he smirked, drool sliding from his curved lips. Ichigo cocked an eyebrow at the man as he continued to clarify with all of the strength he had left.

A time ago, Ichigo found it curious to know the words people would say when they knew they'd be their last. For most, a conversation that seemed to be the summation of their lives, a moment of complete honesty that could assess a person's true character in those final moments, was unattainable.

Now such rarely spoken lexeme didn't pique his interest one way or another. His apathy encompassed him like a sensory deprivation tank. All he could do was float in the lull of nothingness, taking in oblivion and feeling nothing other than the warm and comforting immersement of his ineludible alienation from the world around him.

He felt complacent within his dome of nihility. In what he lacked, he strived.

Still, he hadn't timed this as thoroughly as he had intended. Yet he doubted he had to worry about anyone coming down stairs, for he heard a lot of panicked movements through the ceiling. Footsteps scurrying around like cockroaches in the light was a sign that the owners knew of the deaths and we're readying their escape, just as Ichigo assumed they'd do. With approximately two minutes and forty five seconds before the power was cut, he indulged the man's last words.

"At the end of our lives, like any other man, we think of the mistakes we've made. We too have families, loved one, a lifetime of regrets. When our time comes and we're considering what we would have changed, what we would do differently, killing one last man seems silly in hindsight." Between heaves the man grinned, as if life was the tragedy and death was the comedic relief. "A man such as myself, what i'd like in these last moments is nothing more than this. You're this Ghost character that has the yakuza in shambles, correct?"

Putting the ember of his cigarette out within his pack, Ichigo dropped the butt in the cardboard box. "That's what people keep calling me these days, but If I had to pick a name, it wouldn't be so superstitious soundin'. I don't believe in ghost, but I guess i'm as close as they come."

"I hoped I'd get to talk to you once before the family head finally caught and disemboweled you, but I never thought it be a meeting such as this. Tell me, Ghost, is this suppose to be your divine wrath? Would you have me believe you're doing god's work?"

Ichigo smirked wryly at that notion before his features settled back into their chronic aloofness. "There's no god, and if there is, he doesn't give a shit about any of us. You and these men, you're murderers, kidnappers, you even have enslaved children making your drugs while manipulating homeless teens to work for you. Every breath you've taken has been at the expense of someone else. I'm not here to judge you or punish you to some make believe hell. No. I'm here to end you so your breaths can stop stifling others."

There was one minute left, for Ichigo had been counting the seconds in his head.

Fujimoto snorted at that. "What really makes you that different, what makes you so much better? In the end, you're just a murderer like the rest of us, _boy_."

Cool headedly, Ichigo walked closer to the man, squatting down to the his eye level. "I never claimed to be a good man and I didn't say that was my purpose. I do very bad things for justifiable reasons, whatever kind of man that makes me really doesn't matter. I've felt the pain of watching people I know die at the hands of the Yakuza and the hopelessness that comes when you realize you're own government, the one that's suppose to help you, is behind it. I can't stop everyone from experiencing that, but I'll do what I can."

Wheezing and huffing, Fujimoto knew death had arrived and it was grasping him by the throat. "Indulge a dying man, Ghost. Tell me, what death caused you to become such the martyr? Who did we kill this time?"

Leaning in, Ichigo cupped his hands around his mouth to hide the movements of his lips before whispering just one name in the man's ear.

With the last bit of light and vigor this man had, in-between desperate dry retches and his heart close to palpitating out of his chest, his eyes widened with the look of recognition followed by an almost hysterical amusement. Laughing, he urged, "You're him! If anyone is justified in his sins, it is you." Grasping at his chest, he concluded, "Maybe it's about time someone gave us bad guys a run for our money, so keep giving them hell, kid. Fuck, maybe if you're wrong about hell, I'll see you there." Groaning one last time, his muscles began to go limp as he muttered, "Or maybe not..."

Passively watching the man's inert arms loosen and fall to his side, Ichigo reiterated, "Maybe."

After giving a mocking gesture to the camera, the power cut. Stepping out of the heels, Ichigo picked them up by the straps and began to walk up the stairs. He swaggered at a normal rate amongst the chaotic locomotion of patrons bumping and grinding amidst the tenebrosity.

Human's feared the darkness, they feared the unknown, which was apparent by the hysterical stampede of street dwellers knocking pass Ichigo as he walked silently to his pick up location. All so alarmed and dread filled because of a brief moment of darkness. People were so predictable and Ichigo realized this. Using their predictability for his personal motives, he moved swiftly as just another inconsequential part of the darkness towards his evasion.

After two blocks, he took an alleyway that intersected with another. The end of that delphic and spiderweb covered path met where the darkness stopped. As he reached the end, the illumination of the red light district gave way to his get a way driver straddling his motor bike eagerly. The leather covered hands gripping tightly to the handle bars.

As Ichigo came into view, the man's shit eating smirk was hidden by his helmet.

Mockingly, the man gave a cat-calling whistle. "You look like ya' belong in the Fuzoku, not walking the streets, sweetie."

Ichigo gave a very docile "Fuck off."

Hopping off his bike and taking the opportunity to stretch, the man continued in his taunts. "Oh come on, how much for an hour?"

"Couldn't afford me, shit face." Ichigo yawned, maneuvering around shards of broken beer bottles and crawling bugs. "Not even if I gave you a comradery discount."

"You're gonna' bust your feet up walking back here barefooted," he warned.

"Yeah, but I'd probably mess these up if I walk in them. I rather take my chances with the street over Rangiku." Ichigo jumped on the back, clumsily having to adjust his skirt as he did so.

The driver jumped back on in suit, baffling, "I still can't believe you guys wear the same size shoe."

"Tall women, big feet," Ichigo reasoned.

"Everything go alright?"

"I executed a little too early and had to wait around longer than I would have liked, but it went smoothly. Four eyes did a great job on his end," the man smirked.

"Never let's us down." Going to take off his helmet, the driver said, "Here, take this."

Grabbing the man's wrist, Ichigo shook his head back and forth. "Leave it on until we get to Headquarters. I don't want to risk you being seen by someone."

Resigning his hands back the the handlebars, the man smacked his gums. "This bike has my tags on it, kid."

"Plausible deniability."

Grousing a bit, the driver asked, "Well can I get a stog?"

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Ichigo brimmed with caustic comebacks and chafed legs. "Yeah, let's just sit here and smoke, chill for a bit. I only just killed six men three block away, no rush."

The man tinkered with the flap on the front of his helmet, showing it could come up. "I'll smoke while I drive."

"Like hell you will."

"Tch." The man started the ignition. "You're the mouthiest chick I've had on this thing. Still the prettiest though," the man teased.

"I think that's more of an insult towards yourself, since I'm a guy."

Revving up the bike, the man kicked his leather booth from the cement. "Shut it, ya' Gaki."

"You're really going to lord those two years over me forever, aren't ya?"

The man just smirked a smirk that couldn't be seen and drove off.

After a fifteen minute drive, the two arrived at a complex of lofts in a shadier part of town. Parking in the back, the two climbed up the fire escape of a shoddy building until they reached a window located on the third floor.

Shoving open the window, Ichigo jumped through with his companion following. Despite the ran down space looking more like the meeting place of heroin addicts than a base of operations, the loft was low key, management didn't ask questions, and not to mention, it was really big. It was only made bigger by the fact the loft next door was rented to them also, separated by a door they had installed.

"You're an assassin, not a barbarian. You could've knocked first." Rangiku loomed over a broad metal working table looking somewhat startled. Though it was more of the golden trimmed kunai the woman was spinning on her well manicured finger than her facial features that gave that away.

Taking no time to remove his jacket and blouse, he strew them across the room before allowing a pair of silicon bra fillers to hit the floor. "Who else would it have been?" Ichigo asked with a refreshed sigh while unhooking the bra that duge into his skin. "Does Urahara have other strange men coming in through his window?" Ichigo gave a hubristic smirk, sling shooting the bra into the zoned out face of Urahara as he walked pass.

The older man, who had been too enthralled in his frantic typing to pay the new arrivals any notice, looked up as the undergarment met his face. "Now Ichigo-san," the man mocked with his best parental impersonation. "What did I tell you about leaving your fake breast on the floor?"

"And your clothes." Nose deep in a book, sitting on a worn in sway couch located in the middle of the room, Uryu rolled his eyes.

Now standing behind a curtain in the corner of the loft, Ichigo changed. "Geez, I'll get em' in a second. I got more pressing matters, like my junk being held hostage by this damn sadistic piece of fabric."

Rangiku told him he dare not rip those panty hoes in case they needed them again as Chad sat on the edge of the momentarily empty work table sharpening a knife.

"Never again."

The driver, who had now removed his helmet, pulled out a smoke and lit it up. "He's been pissy all night, wouldn't even let me have a smoke."

Sauntering over to the man and throwing an arm around his shoulder, Rangiku snatched the cigarette from the man and pressed it to her upturned lips. "How did you ever survive?"

Growling, the man's lips twitched for the nicotine. "You better be glad I like ya'."

"Oh, I'm so flattered, Ikkaku." She exhaled her smoke through plumply pursed lips before continuing. "But you see, you're not my type."

"I didn't mean like that, woman!"

Garbed in a pair of jeans and a simple gray v neck, Ichigo flung himself in the middle of the couch beside Uryu. "Get this shit off my face, will ya?"

"It's not shit, it's a work of art," Rangiku retorted. "Attach a please to that and it may get you somewhere."

Orange tresses of hair leaned against the back of the couch as Ichigo closed his eyes and sighed. "Fine. Please get this shit off my face."

Cotton balls and adhesive remover in hand, on the other side of Ichigo, Rangiku rested on her haunches. "Better. We'll work on it."

"That may be your biggest masterpiece yet," Uryu remarked. "Transforming that mess of bad manners into someone mildly civilized would be a sight to see."

"Why do you girls do this crap to yourself anyway? The heels, the hoes, what is that all about anyway?"

Pulling off chunks of adhesive, Rangiku discarded the mess on the coffee table beside her. "Beauty is pain, Ichigo, one you become use to." Winking at the man, she explained, "I'm sure there's something painful you do for a _pleasurable_ outcome."

Uryu groaned in disgust and Ikkaku agreed, sitting down in an adjacent arm chair and popping open a beer. Ichigo smirked knowingly, but added nothing.

"Oh hush, this is the birds and the bees. There's nothing gross about it."

Now joining the conversation, Chad sympathized, "I understand what you mean, Rangiku-san. It's like how I get my core pounded at to build up the durability of my muscles. It's painful, but worth it. Though.. I don't really get what you mean about Ichigo."

"You don't want to know," Ikkaku rolled his eyes.

Unable to help himself, Ichigo responded lewdly, "It also involves pounding."

Ichigo's current charisma was all Rangiku had ever know, but for his older friends, like Chad and Uryu, they knew a man who use to be much more reserved about intimate things. Overall, Ichigo didn't change that much, at least it seemed that way from the way he presented himself. He was still a smart ass, cocky, yet intensely serious and dedicated at most times. However, his lack of emotions made him less prone to getting embarrassed, along with making him noticeably more blunt than usual. He'd always been a honest and straightforward type of man, but now he was audaciously so. For the people who knew him well, his personality now seemed forced, a spurious attitude he wielded as a coping mechanism. Smart allic retorts we're no stranger to the mouth of Ichigo, but now he used them like chain link armor, almost instinctively deflecting everything life threw at him.

Now he would laugh, but vacantly so, almost as if it was an automated response. All of his curiosity, smirks, good time's, they were all crafted temperaments that dressed up his apathy, disguising it. It sometimes felt like the personality of someone else had been dropped inside of him, the personality of who he use to be, only mutated slightly from the twisted days of his past.

Though such a song and dance may seem exacerbating, it was mounds easier than having to explain and justify his blatant indifference towards most everything and everyone. It was much easier than having eyes of concern and pity glued to him. Still, no matter how he tried to hide it, the one's who knew Ichigo could see it. Though this group of highly organized assassins weren't completely sane in their own right, so they did little to judge despite their concern.

The biggest change was the lengths Ichigo would go to, the things he'd do to achieve his mission. He'd never hurt an innocent, at least physically, and he was loyal to his comrades. Though, because of his callousness and lack of shame, there was little he wouldn't do for the cause. If it took manipulation, hurtful words, dressing like a girl, he'd do it without the normal humiliation or guilt that would cloud most people's ability to follow through. It was hard to feel guilt when he never breached the confines of his moral code, a code that was simple and flexible in it's nature. Protect the innocent at all cost, even himself. Especially himself.

Traded out for any verbal delicatesse and abashment were a logic and cool headed mind frame, surely the oddest of all his changes. Even while putting on a front, Ichigo never got angry. At least not truly angry, since the most he'd attempt was miffed. All of the hot headed rashness and affronted annoyance that had defined him before had been washed away by cool waves of apathy. In Ichigo's opinion, the evolution was for the better. What a feckless emotion anger was. It helped nothing. It didn't further his cause. It was a weakness, one the man was glad to shed.

"How did we get here?" Uryu groused, shutting his book.

"Anyway," Ichigo back peddled, "I hope you're not torturing yourself like that for guys."

"It's for myself, but the male attention doesn't hurt either." Rangiku removed another large chunk of adhesive, causing Ichigo to flinch. She grasped the man's face in her hands. "Ichigo-kun, it really is you under there."

Yanking away his chin, Ichigo sneered a bit, pretending to be slightly annoyed. "I got some male attention too, but I don't have to mutilate myself and risk a broken leg to get it."

"I don't think most guys are as into that done up look anyway, not like they pretend to be. We like it, but it's not realistic. Going after looks alone is shallow anyway." Chad threw in his two cent, which would probably be one out of a handful of things he said during the course of the evening. For the silent giant did mostly listening.

"Yeah, we don't give a shit about those things. Well, at least I don't," Ikkaku added.

"I agree. Never in the history of man has a guy wanted to take a women home only to change his mind when he looked down and saw she wasn't wearing Jimmy Choos."

"That's a little hasty coming from you, Uryu, seeing as the only woman who pays you attention is that computer you treat like your girlfriend," Ichigo bantered, earning him a fuck off scowl.

"Since we're speaking about picking up men, I was going to go out tonight. Men around here are too shy though. I wish they could be more like the foreign men I met in the states. You never know though, I could meet mister right or get a lot of free drinks trying. Are you in, Ichigo?" The women gave him a deliberately wry cock of the eyebrow as she peeled off the last of the adhesive.

He returned the look in spades as he sat up straight and massaged a kink from his shoulder. "Yeah. I could use a way to blow off some steam."

Picking his book back up, Uryu said, "You're gonna blow something alright."

Rangiku shooed Ichigo slightly before moving to throw away the dried up remains of Ichigo's costume. "Now go wash your face, it's all sticky. Oh, and put on moisturizer. Your face is all red and I refuse to go out with someone who looks like they've been exfoliating with poison ivy."

As Ichigo moved to the sink in the barren kitchenette, never to be utilized for things other than housing beer and take out boxes, Urahara finally seized his typing. "Sounds like a real interesting conversation you youngsters are having. I would think talking about the operation that just happened would be a _tiny_ bit more important, but hey, that's just me."

At the bout of overt sarcasm, Ikkaku asked, "What's ta' talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know," Urahara offered playfully, "how it went?"

After patting his face dry with his t-shirt, seeing as Urahara's lair of madness had no room for paper towels, Ichigo moved to retrieve the clothes he'd left on the floor. "Yeah, I kill six guys and you don't even ask how It went. And you call me rude, Ishida."

"What do you mean how it went? You're here, alive, not in prison, so I think I know how it went."

"It doesn't matter anyway, old man. It went smoothly, there's nothing left to talk about. We should focus our energy on the next hit."

Urahara looked at Ichigo with a dubious concern, but said nothing about it as he walked back over to his desk. "Speaking of hits, I got that file for you."

The older man handed Ichigo a blue folder with the initials B. K written across the front, and Ichigo took no heed in sitting back down and looking through it. "He's scheduled to come at the beginning of next week, right?" he questioned Ikkaku.

"Yeah, but something tells me he'll be showing up sooner than expected," Ikkaku smirked.

Looking in the file as Rangiku peaked over his shoulder, Ichigo returned the smirk. "I guess I ruined his plans. I made sure to wave hello to the camera for him." In reality, it was more of a 'catch me if you can.'

Snatching the picture from the file, Rangiku gaped slightly. "This is the NPA agent sent to investigate us? He's beautiful."

Ikkaku rolled his eye's in a 'not you too' fashion as Ichigo looked at the information in front of him with the dullest, yet most shock he was capable of feeling. Though even that exaggerated the feeling, for it was more of a singular thought saying 'oh, that's not what I was expecting.'

"Apparently he had a lover who died five years ago. His name was Ren."

"Wha- he's gay?"

Ichigo cocked an eyebrow towards the picture. "Apparently."

Giving something between a scoff and chuckle, Uryu asked in half seriousness, "What, are you going to sleep with him or something to keep him off our trail?"

In a cursory manner, Ichigo spoke bluntly, "If it's necessary." With the way he responded so flippantly and without hesitation, Uryu knew he meant it. That length Ichigo would travel for his cause didn't just stop at sexual exploitation. The man worried about Ichigo's willingness to shed parts of himself as if they were just dead weight, only useful as a means of self preservation and an armory for the movement. He gave his heart, soul, and body to this mission. He was married to the cause, and what a masochistic union it was, Ichigo giving everything, graciously self deconstructing. Like a bundle of dead cells on the barber shop floor, his sheddable parts were apart of him, albeit inconsequential.

Uryu had to wonder, If Ichigo ever did want to return to the person he once was, tread the winding road back to the devastated wreckage that laid within the most terrifying days of his curriculum vitae, only to have to sift through the rubble for surviving pieces, would there even be anything left to find? Would there be a single pillar of his previous constitution not eradicated? More so, would he be able to make the trip back? If he ever wanted to change, he'd have to brave the path cluttered and blood drenched with the corpses and haunting memories he'd tried to dispose of along the way. Could he endure the same inevitable guilt his own father did that came along with the life he chose to live and the morally dubious tightrope he had to stratal? When baring the weight of one's own culpability, the remorse could drag you down like you're hauling every carcasse you created throughout the journey until you're just barely crawling in the sweltering heat of your own emotions. Could Ichigo be the murderer and the man, or could he only move forward by continuing to dissociate with the parts of him that made him human?

It wasn't so transparent, but Uryu understood it was a path that only Ichigo could walk alone. For he'd stand beside him, but the direction Ichigo aimed his attention towards was something he could never change.

Uryu silently nodded, souring slightly.

Ikkaku had know Ichigo the least amount of time in comparison to all the other members, and though he found himself good at reading people, he passed no judgment nor asked no questions about Ichigo's methods. They revered and trusted one another. They understood each other and what it meant to carry a burden. It wasn't Ikkaku's job to castigate the man for the means of which he tried to lighten the load.

"Yeah, it's not a widely known thing. Pretty much, only a few people knew within the division, but no one ever talked about it. Kuchiki's revered like a god among men in the homicide unit, so everyone kept their opinions to themselves, or at least tried not to think about it."

Ichigo rolled his eyes heavy at the ridiculous notion. "Yeah, it would be life shattering to find out their being lead by a big old homo."

Slinging her arm around her orange haired friend, Rangiku gave a pondering hum. "So Ichigo," she asked with a sultry tonality, "do you think he likes to be the tachi more or the neko?"

An impish smirk creased the man's face as he continued to investigate the inner idiosyncrasy of the distinguished agent. "I think a man like this doesn't know the meaning of submission."

"Anyway," Uryu cut in, "you were the Keibu-ho of the drug unit for about a year, you never met him?"

Ichigo shook his head back and forth at torpid rates. "Yeah, once at a case that involved both of our units. He didn't pay attention to me really."

Uryu was going to ask how well his dad had know Byakuya, but bit his tongue. Ichigo never brought him up and everyone followed his lead on that, not wanting to breach such a sensitive subject.

Ikkaku swigged some beer and swallowed it down. "Sound's like em'. He's the self important type. "

Ichigo huffed to the contrary. "Nah, it's more like… I don't know, the guy was just intensely focused. It was as if nothing else mattered in that moment. I can respect that."

"Why are we looking into him anyway? I know you would never consider an innocent for a hit," Chad assured.

"He's going to be looking into this case really hard," Ichigo explained, flickering his eyes up from the paper for the shortest of moments. "I'm not saying it will come to it, but if he starts to suspect me, I need to know him in order to keep one step ahead of him. Know your enemy. He's not an enemy that we're going to kill, but an enemy none the less."

Straightening up in his seat, Ikkaku leaned forward, resting his elbows. "Look, Ichigo-san, watch your step. This guy, my personal feelings for him aside, is a fucking shark. He earned every bit of his nickname. Once he's got your scent, he won't stop until he catches you. Fuck, he's never even had an unsolved case, not in ten whole years."

Ichigo smirked slightly, nodding and flipping through the file. "Yeah, I saw he went to school for criminology. He probably knows the psychology behind how a criminal thinks better than the back of his hand. I'm not too worried, though. I also got my degree in criminology with a minor in psychology, so I know a thing or two about getting inside someone's head. Also, I'm not your average criminal."

Urahara, who was looking a little less buoyant than usual, blond hair splaying out over his softly aged eyes, put a hand on Ichigo's shoulder. "Still, Ichigo, he was a Keibu for ten years. You were a Keibuho for one year, a good one, but barely more than a rookie. You're really talented and you've trained intensely, but we can't be reckless with how we handle this."

Somewhat vaguely, Ichigo simply stated, "Yeah, but there are things I have that he doesn't too." More so, it was what Ichigo didn't have that Byakuya did. A lack of feckless, stymie emotions clouding his mind caused Ichigo to always go one step further than anyone else would dare. Without feelings shackling him down, without care, Ichigo wasn't one who could be emotionally manipulated.

"Anyway, if something happens and we're found out, I'm taking the fall. None of you have anything to worry about."

"Ichigo, that's impo-" Urahara disapproval was cut off.

"I won't debate about that. It's non negotiable." His stern authoritative voice settled into something more lighthearted as Ichigo turned and smirked. "Besides, if you guys get thrown in there with me, who going to break me out?"

Grinning widely, the older man shoved his head playfully. "I think I'll let you stay in there for a good year, just to learn a lesson."

Ichigo continued to read over the meticulously put together file that Urahara had presented. It was filled with personal and professional information, from his family pedigree to his medical history. There was a lot of useful information, but one thing stood out from the rest.

One piece of information made Ichigo flinch slightly, his thoughts and tongue lagging. Under the medical history section was a psychological report followed by a handful of personal information, such as year of birth, address, and all other basic specs that a doctor would have on file. There was a lengthy section on Byakuya and the sessions where he was psychoanalyzed, in which Ichigo planned to go over thoroughly, followed by a conclusion.

 _2.5 Prognoses: Patient suffers from vivd nightmares, anxiety, avoidance, and vacillates between emotional numbness and bouts of anger as a result of his PTSD. Prazosin and Paxil were prescribed. The combination of chemicals interacted negatively, increasing their emotional imbalance. Since, Paxil has been switched out with Zoloft, seeming to balance out the patience emotional state and anxiety. The Prazosin has negated most nightmares. Patient refuses cognitive therapy as a symptom of his avoidance, leaving me concerned with a life long dependency on these medications._

Wrinkles formed on the paper from the tight grasp of Ichigo's hesitant hands. Something, perhaps his consciousness, was telling him to keep his mouth shut, that no one needed to know. This was something he understood in unexplainable ways, something so close to home, something so personal.

Something he could use.

Ichigo never swayed from the magnetic pull of his moral compass, not until tonight anyway. This was a war and there was no room for playing nicely, not when Byakuya was already sharpening his hunting knives. He only felt sympathetic briefly because of his own battle with trauma induced nightmares, but it was just a momentary lapse in judgment. He was right in doing this. He was justified, or so he told himself.

Rolling up the folder into a cylinder like tube, he tapped it repeatedly on the wooden coffee table with tongue in cheek. "He has PTSD." Ichigo's eyes addressed Ikkaku, who looked with a mildly surprised lift of the eyebrow. "Do you know anything about that?"

For a moment, he thought he felt an inkling of guilt bergon within his stomach, but his coldness frosted it over, killing it before it could spread.

"Oh shit, really?" the man scratched his head and turned his eyes up in contemplation. "Well yeah, actually, I do. A year ago about, Renji and Kuchiki retired from the squad and moved up the latter. Kuchiki said he felt like he could better serve Tokyo by trying to change the laws on government corruption. Now, that might be true and all, but there's more ta' the story. Kuchiki and Renji were out on a call when something came in through their radio." Brawny and slightly uncomfortable, Ikkaku shifted in his seat awkwardly before he continued, leaning deeper into his knees. "There was a warehouse explosion on the' outskirts of the city, so they went to check it out, since they were the closest at that point. For whatever reason, the whole investigation was dropped and handled by the NPA. I don't know exactly what they saw there, no one really does, but I know it was bad. It fucked Renji up, that's for sure. He's better, but…" he shook his head of the trailing thought as he felt it sober him. "But he sure ain't what I call okay, not like he use to be. Before he got help, he'd have all of these emotional outburst, not to mention he's glued to Kuchiki's ass more than ever. A lot of people thought he left the unit because he couldn't deal with being there after that. I guess there's some truth ta' that after all."

"It's no surprise he told no one." Uryu added, "Mental illness is extremely stigmatized in our country, even among medical professionals. The majority of the population still think mental illness stems from character flaws. Even Aspergers, which isn't even a mental illness mind you, is considered to be caused by character flaws. It's preposterous if you ask me."

"It's not like the guy asked to see a bunch of horrible stuff. Even I saw some stuff in the military that made it hard for me to sleep at night." Chad made a confused, if not affronted face.

"It's our country's love for conformity. I mean, our old governor said that tsunamis were god's divine justice on otaku's...among other horrible things..and people still kept voting for him..However, I don't think anyone in this room really values conformity all too much, "

Whitened knuckles and pin point pupils shined through his brick house of a face. Like a balloon on the verge of bursting, Ichigo felt merely a stretched thin layer of apathy holding back a tynomi of dumbstruck hysteria. It was the pieces of the past that had been strewn and forgotten now twisting and turning, trying to connect in a gory reality Ichigo's psyche could not handle. The connection of these pieces would be the needle to burst such a meager barrier. Some things are better never to be remembered.

Ichigo didn't move a muscle, only his eyebrow flickering reflexively. "When did this happen?"

Urahara was giving him a long and deliberate glare, one Ichigo took no notice too.

"About a year and three months ago, back in July. Apparently it was Yakuza related, a fucking blood bath."

It was just the briefest of moments, but the sensation of destruction rattled his insides. Like a cluster of underwater volcanos erupting in tandem, only slightly vibrating the surface with their raw and cataclysmic power. There was no emotion to label the sensation with, but more so, the flood of overwhelming emotions crumbling his foundation, bringing back flashes of memories that made no sense. Flashes, like random and out of order mini clips of a horror film trying to string themselves into something coherent. They practically begged to be released, stifling his breathing, piercing his eardrums with the uproar of static noise. Yet, as it always did at moments like these, moments where he was so close to remembering, it stopped. It felt like that contradicting chaotic calm after a storm hits.

Clutching tighter to the file, a palpable sensation of leaving his own body washed over him. He disjoined himself from the memories of the cursed body that housed such, feeling ethereal as he existed above the reality of such a bloody and brutal cognizance. Ichigo felt as if he was floating above, a voyeur to a pain of someone else, someone with his face and body, but not him. Even as he spoke and stood, consciously used his motor skills and felt the thumping of a heart in his chest, it wasn't him. He was floating, watching, feeling a euphoric nothingness that came with disconnecting from everyone, even himself.

This ability in which Ichigo thought to be a blessing in disguise was no more than the complex psychological coping mechanisms of being reminded. When faced with that, his mind would drag him to the edge of reality and push him off. It was like looking at life through a foggy funhouse mirror, all the moving pieces were blurry and surreal as he watched himself like a movie, feeling nothing good nor bad at the production. Whenever something started to remind him, his body and consciousness split, awareness spilling out of him like an apparition, as if he was truly the ghost they deemed him to be. His body was no longer his, but held hostage in this abstracted existence as he was forced to watch in frigid indifference. There was nothing voluntary about it and it certainly was not some skill that could be refined. Though he held that belief, and that resolution was an exemplary testimony of how far Ichigo had gone down this rabbit hole, at how perfectly fucked up he was. He wanted this, to turn his mental psychosis, his biggest weakness, into his greatest weapon.

Ichigo knew what happened to his family. He understood the fact that it had been because of the combined forces of the Yakuza and the Japanese government, but the how was something he long ago blocked out. The unthinkable atrocity that played out that night, exactly in what way his family was killed, he didn't know. Now it only resurfaced in the form of adrenaline fueled night terrors, terrors that he got rid of in more intimate and sybaritic manners. Flashes of that night were like waking up one morning and seeing a completely different person in the reflection, in an instant, everything you thought you knew about life became a lie and your foundation would crumble into ash. His depersonalization and dissociation was a mental malfunction that steamed from the extreme trauma and kept him from reliving the horrors over and over. Ichigo had no time to crumble, therefore, he took it all in stride.

Standing quickly, Ichigo asked, "Are you ready, Rangiku-san?"

She netted her brow, but hopped up in suit. "Are you okay, honey?" the woman asked, lightly touching the pad of Ichigo's shoulder.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" Ichigo smirked heavily. "Just need a drink is all." Ichigo grabbed his coat before stepping aside to usher Rangiku towards the door. Urahara was shaking his head slightly towards his work with dissatisfaction, sealing his lips.

Being led out of the room, Rangiku shrugged her shoulders in a puzzled fashion yet walked silently beside Ichigo.

After the two left, it didn't take Ikkaku long to feel the air. There was some kind of tension that deemed a conversation and he knew he neither was wanted there nor wanted to be there for the words the three were about to exchange. Standing up, he muttered something about needing to take out some stress on a punching bag and left into the adjacent room.

It took no time at all for Uryu to give Urahara an aslant glare and ask, "What was that about? Kurosaki got all weird when he was talking about the NPA agent."

Urahara stood and took the still warm seat of Ikkaku. "That warehouse explosion last year, that's where all that stuff went down with Ichigo-san's family." When he said 'that stuff', it wasn't because of a need to be discreet, more so, because he actually didn't know. He only knew what Ichigo remembered, which was very little.

Uryu and Chad exchanged weary looks. "He still doesn't remember much from that night?"

Urahara shook his head no, a deep rooted concern shining in his eyes. "Only everything that happened leading up to it, some flashes here or there, a few things at the end. He remembers waking up in some nearby field."

Making a considering noise, Uryu adjusted his glasses. "Well, perhaps that's for the best then. Who would want to remember something like that?"

"I don't agree. I worry about him," Urahara rebutted. "We've all known Ichigo-san for a long time, long enough to know he's changed drastically."

"And?" Uryu affronted, "Of course he's changed, we all have in our own ways. Do you think this life we live won't have an affect?" Chad just sat introspectively, listening to their back and forth.

"It's not the killing and you know it," Urahara sharpened his eyes. "There's hardening yourself and then there's completely cutting yourself off from everything."

"Kurosaki's never been a very expressive person, not with his words any way," Uryu dismissed with a flippant flick of the wrist.

Shaking his head in a frustrated dumbstruck at the younger man's perspective, he gritted, "It's different."

The edge in Urahara's tone caught Uryu's attention, making his glare soften at the man's seriousness.

"He's right, Ishida," Chad spoke up. "It is different now."

Running a hand over his face, Urahara said, "When he showed up on my doorstep and told me about his family and his plan, I believed in his mission. I still do. But my main reason for agreeing was because Ichigo-san's like a son to me. I've known him his whole life and...Isshin was my best friend." He sighed heavily, the breath coming out as jagged as he felt. "He wouldn't have liked the path Ichigo's chosen."

"How can you say that?" Uryu snapped, "Part of the reason he does this is for his father, to continue what he started."

"I told you, it's not about the mission itself. Isshin, everyone he killed stayed with him. Even though he and myself believed the cause just, he carried a heavy burden for the path he chose, and yeah, it was hard, but he had a family. Three kids, friends, and no matter how heavy the burden was, he took it all in stride. He never closed himself off to make it easier on himself, because he was more than his duty to protect." Urahara leaned in on his knees, his age and experience showing in his drooping and drained eyes. "Ichigo doesn't deal with his emotions or controls them, he just doesn't feel them. I'll stand with him through this thing, but I can't just sit by while this becomes all he is. Just a murderer who's disconnected from everyone around him."

Sharing heavy glares that were equally staunch in their emotions, the two said more with those gestures than words could. "As a doctor, Ishida-san, do you really believe that repressed memories, night terrors, and a complete personality change is something to flick your wrist at?"

"Night terrors?" Chad inquired.

"He fell asleep here one evening and woke in a fit. If it wasn't for that, I wouldn't even have known."

"What would you have me do?" Uryu sneered. "I see it. I don't like it, but what's the alternative? Spiking his drinks with pills or forcing him into exposure therapy so he can remember that horrible night?" Clinching his fist, Uryu pushed himself from the couch, pacing away some of his heated energy. "He will do whatever he likes, and if we try to push it, he'll just distance himself more. All we can do is be there for him, so when he does finally need help, he won't have to pick up all the pieces by himself."

Urahara blinked at the man, seeing that his concern was just as real only expressed differently. It was easy to see the sense of urgency building to fretfulness, only alleviated by the man's logical way of thinking about things.

"I believe in him. I think he'll get to a better place, but pushing him into it when he's not ready will do more damage than good. And saying 'he's turning into just a murderer', as if he's no better than the Yakuza members we take out, that just undermines all the good we do, that _he_ does..it just.." Uryu calmed his fanatical pacing to take a deep and composing sigh. "...Just have a little trust in him, will you Urahara? He's Ichigo fucking Kurosaki, for kami sake. He will always stand back up."

There was a thoughtful silence, a sort of calm that resonated within every one for a moment. Of course, Uryu had always believed in his friend and long time rival, and he'd continue in this belief despite the fact Kurosaki had became someone lost to himself.

Hand's placed on his knees, Urahara started deliberately down at his clenched fist relaxing slightly. When he finally spoke, a smirk could be heard in his voice. "You're being oddly idealistic, aren't you, Ishida-san?"

"I think I'm being quite logical, actually. The past has a way of catching up to all of us. One day, he won't be able to avoid his demons anymore. One day, something will give."

"You do realize that, for him to build himself back up, he'll first have to fall apart, right? That could be dangerous for all of us. This is a risky game we're playing."

There was a long enduring silence that seemed to somber with its looming presence. "I know," Ishida finally spoke up, "but let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Yeah," Urahara sighed, "let's hope."

 **xXx**

A feeling of maniacal adrenaline rushed the blue haired man as his knuckles collided with a fleshy gut, barring deep until he felt the satisfaction of meeting durable, tough muscles.

He lived for such a sensation. The gust of wind that worked against his catapulting fist and the tepid feeling of blood being heaved up as a result, it was a spiritual sensation. The smell of iron, the almost animalistic terror brightening up his victim's face like the most beautiful light show he'd ever seen, the euphony of bones shattering like glass, it was a symphony for the senses. It was a symphony that he conducted.

Yes. Bringing other's pain flooded him with such a pleasurable plethora of emotions that vibrated every cell in his body. It was akin to the canid onslaught of rapture that brought someone to tears when they saw a beautiful piece of art for the first time. It just evoked emotion from a latent incomprehensible place within.

Fighting others, hurting them, that was his Michelangelo's 'The Creation Of Adam'. There were no hands that could create something as beautiful as the chaotic destruction he could create with his own.

"What I tell ya about stepping onto my territory, huh?" Grimmjow sent another flying fist into the man who was bent over, grasping onto his shaking knees as he tried to take back some of the wind that was just punched out of him.

"Maybe you're deaf or something and I need to knock you around more until whatever's blocking your ears comes out." His twisted smirk mild slightly has he took in the exhausted, near collapsed state of the man in front of him. "You're lucky I hate beating up on people who can't even fight back." He spit on the man. "It takes the fun out of it. Kicking a dog when it's already down is just pathetic."

Some sort of terrified grin grew on the blanched and bloody face of the other man as he leaned his weight against the brick of the alleyway. "Oh come on, Grimmy-Shatei-san, we're all one big family. We're all Inagawa-Kai, brother."

Clenching a fisht full of the man's shirt, which had brown red stains smeared into the fabric, Grimmjow lifted the man till the tips of his toes were just barely hovering against the concrete. "Exactly, and everyone in the family has their place. How do you think Aizen-Oyabun would like it if he knew your shateigashira was gettin' stingy and stepping on our gangs toes. That messes with the flow of things."

Throwing the man down, he fiddled around in his pocket before fishing out a little plastic bag filled with some white powder. Opening the bag, he eyed it suspiciously, letting that questioning glare waffle between the man and the bag. "Are you guys cutting this shit?"

Immediately, the man shook his head no, his gaping eyes of fear making Grimmjow question the validity of his honesty. Though, he wouldn't trust a street rat like this anyway, nor much of anyone at all.

Grimmjow licked the inside of the bag, running his tongue slowly and thoroughly over his upper gum, knitting his eyebrows in appraisal. Shaking his head in a mocking disappointment, he threw the bag down at the beaten body staring up at him through floaty eyes, begging whatever god he believed in that Grimmjow's assessment was not followed up by a fierce kick to the head.

Crouching down in front of the man, Grimmjow leaned his elbows on his knees and smirked in amusement. "Ya know, the only thing I hate more than liars are little kusottare's who try and sling some half baked shabu he cut up in a kitchen sink somewhere. I ain't no snitch, but the next one of my guys who finds out you've been tampering with our product might not be as nice as me. And if Aizen Oyabun finds out what you're doing," he shook his head back and forth humorously, "you'll be lucky if you have any fingers to take after that."

The young man looked down at his quivering mutilated fingers, two of which had be cut down to the second knuckle and one of which was missing just the tip. For every wrongdoing, no matter how ephemeral the effects may be, the consequences of such offense would stay with them forever. The young man had participated in the yubitsume, the finger cutting ritual, many times now as a way to atone for the mistakes he had made, but Grimmjow's words made him wonder, what happened when a person had no more fingers to give. More so, would he be losing more today after his own boss found out of his failure.

Taking the young man's index finger in his hand, he said, "If I catch you doing this again, I'll cut _you_ up and send you back to your boss. Let's see if you're still worth as much to him after I've tampered with you."

A beautiful snapping sound filled Grimmjow's ear followed by a guttural scream being muffled by the man's free and non injured hand. He shoved the man's backpack into his chest before telling him to scram, watching the man scurry about in pain before he ran off frantically.

"Tch." Grimmjow watched as he ran off and scoffed at the pitiful display before beating his pants of some grime and entering through a door at the back of the ally.

He entered into one of the many establishment's that the Inagawa-Kai considered its territory. It was no secret that this was a hot spot for gangs, because there was no actual law against being affiliated with the Yakuza. As long as they went about their illicit dealings with a lowered head, the police and government gave them a get out of jail free card, a golden key to the city to exist as they please.

He passed by the barkeep, a long time affiliate of the Inagawa-Kai with salt and pepper hair and etches in his face sitting as deep as a crater. He enter through a door that lead to a separate room situated in the back of the bar.

Rambunctiously, Grimmjow enter, paying no care to anyone else as he cracked his knuckles, going on about the ass he just kicked and how unstimulating and unchallenging it had inevitably been.

Coyote Starrk sighed deeply at the clamorous and quite agitating entrance. "We're doing something and you're being quite disturbing."

Looking around the room, Grimmjow noticed a few young kids holding pencil to paper. Going up to one of them, he snatched up the paper right from under one of their noses. The kid momentarily grew chafed before Grimmjow gave him a look that made him think better.

He turned the stack of stapled papers every which kind of way with an almost offended look. "What is this shit?"

"Some would call that paper, Grimm shatei-san."

"I mean, what's this shit on it, ass hole." As the man looked as if he was about to rip the paper to shreds, Starrk leaped from the chair, saving it from the fate of Grimmjow's hands which knew only destruction.

"Geeze, I don't care if you're loud, but if you rip that up I'll have to take the effort of making a new one." Sighing, he handed the stack of papers to the rattled teen. "And I honestly don't feel like it." Sitting back in his chair, he kicked his feet up on a small desk and let his cheek rest on his coiled fingers. "Their test for the new recruits. It's a thing we're doing now…" he rolled his eyes and yawned, sinking deeper into his seat. "..apparently.."

Flopping down on the desk, he shoved Starrk's feet over. "A test for criminals?" he mocked with a smirk. "On what? How to properly beat up someone for stepping on our turf?"

Starrk gave a throaty scoff. "No. I'll leave that part to you. It's this thing that the Yakuza has been doing for a while, but it's just now trickling down to us. It's a test on the laws."

"Where a bunch of criminals. Why the hell do our new recruits have to take exams on laws?"

Starrk huffed, obviously miffed he even had to explain. "The Yakuza is considered one of the most organized and least violent syndicates in the world. It's that organization that keeps us out of hot water with the police and government. So, to ensure the safety of their members and, mostly, themselves, they make sure all new members are up to date on laws so they don't get the family in trouble with unnecessary crime." At Grimmjow's face contorted as if that was the dumbest shit he'd ever heard, Starrk said, "You've heard the phrase criminal empire, yah? An empire is a business. You don't hire new employees without ensuring they won't damage your business."

"That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard," Grimmjow snorted. "Good thing I joined before you guy's started this shit, cuz like hell you'd have me in here taking a test."

"They'd take one look at you and know better." Starrk dropped his feet and leisurely put his elbows on the desk. "I don't want to sit here for half the day either. I thought being a Kyodai would be less work."

"Not less, just more boring," Grimmjow pushed himself up from the desk and ambled towards the entrance of which he came. "I ain't sticking around for it. See ya'."

Starrk yelled as he walked away, "We have a meeting later. You better show up. If I have to be there than so do you."

 **xXx**

One groggy Ichigo woke from his slumber to first be met by the blinding rays of sun shining through his open window and then, perhaps a more disturbing sight, the naked back side of some guy who's name he couldn't remember. It was a nice backside, but one he'd already had.

He shook his head at the sight. He could have swore he told that guy to leave last night after their activities, or at least he meant to. The inconvenience of waking up and dealing with some random was the last thing he wanted to deal with first thing in the morning.

So he didn't. First, he splashed some frigid water over his drowsy features, then he began his morning workout routine. Five reps of sit up, twenty each, pull ups till failure, pushups till failure, five reps for squat jumps, twenty each, five reps of jumping jacks, twenty each, he sweated through it all in an almost robotic fashion, his mind clear of most thoughts as he pushed his body towards a single goal.

Today he'd run five miles before he went to Urahara's to put in some time on the punching bag and spared with Chad. Though, before he did any of that, he needed to kick the no name, snoring bundle of muscles and chestnut waves out of his bed and flat.

Bottle of water in hand, Ichigo stood pensively in front of his window overlooking a bustling street, alive with the hum of early morning shoppers and salary men. For some, casual sex was had in an attempt to fill a void. Ironically, for the people looking for the act to fill more than a hole in their body, it usually just left them unsatisfied, only cementing the true depths of their emptiness. However, for Ichigo, he held no concern for filling a void. On the contrary, the stimulus was in hope to further that void until he was left with a gapping chasm of nothing.

Giving his body away as if it was all meaningless only disconnected him from whom he once was a little more with each thrust. It distanced him from himself and drove him further away from a past he didn't want to remember. It only made him more aware of the spaces within, empty and dust varnished like barren bookshelves that once held pictures of better times, but it also made him more acceptant. A moment of pure pleasure with no emotions attached was like Novocain in the form of flesh and blood, it numbed him, kept the nightmares at bay, and reminded him that there was nothing to return home too. There was no family, no real future, and the man who once had those things, who would never do such intimate things in such callous ways, seemed to depart when his family did. Maybe, just maybe, if he could give away all of these parts of himself, he would forget the old him completely, so he didn't have to think about all of the lifeless spaces that use to be filled with family, friends, and hope.

The old him would hate how he is, mock him, be sickly ashamed even, but that Ichigo didn't know what this one does. He had not experienced the same life altering horrors. More so, that Ichigo had no place in this world. On some level, a part of him knew the guilt he'd feel if he ever became more like the old Ichigo Kurosaki, self reproach he didn't want to feel. Being concerned about things he'd never have again would only get in the way of the last thing he did have: This mission. It was better this way. This was the way he wanted things.

Some rustling behind him met by the gentle pressure of icy fingers pressing into his hips bones pulled Ichigo from his thoughts. A pair of lips pressed on his shoulder blades, overwhelming him with the scent of liquor and morning breath.

Ichigo shrugged the man off. "You gotta go. I need to head out soon."

Another press of the lips met Ichigo's sweat drenched skin, the affection feeling almost blood curdling. "Mh," the stranger hummed, "you sure you don't want to have another go before I leave?"

Turning away even more in a blatant show of disinterest, Ichigo shook his head no. "I don't really do repeat performances. Sorry." It had became easier and easier for him to apologize for those things he felt nothing for, the least of all contriteness.

A smirk could be heard in the wryness of the stranger, ones whom's face was already a distant memory in the making. He didn't even turn to look at man as he prepared to leave. "Too bad," he said before moving away. Ichigo could hear the labor of dressing, some slight pillaging for personal things, the clatter of clumsily tripping into a pair of shoes. The man was walking towards the door, but stopped momentarily, the jangle of keys in his pocket filling the silent space. "It is really too bad. You were a really good lay. No surprise though, the quiet and messed up guys always are."

Ichigo was unmoved, as the words did not phase him. Not only could he not argue against them, but he had no urge to. Like most things, those words were vacuous.

Later that evening, Ichigo was working on quick and evasive footwork, throwing combination punches at the bag. He often did a reflex drill in which pouches of sand would be dropped from the celling at different times and in random places about the room. It kept him sharp, precise, and agile, for he always needed to be on his toes. However, today was just the basics.

The room was murky and deathly silent, the only sounds being the reverberation of Ichigo's fist meeting durable material and just a whisper of his feet floating across the padded floors at amazing speeds. He'd been at it for a while and the wraps around his hands did nothing to help his aching tendons. Still, he kept at it until he heard the sound of someone entering the room.

Ichigo, through rigorous training, had become in tuned with all of his senses, learning to take in what was around him at almost all times. So without even turning around, he knew just by the way the man entered the room and the way the ambience seemed to shift as he did just who it was.

Ichigo straightened his spine and threw an uppercut, pivoting on the balls of his feet as if to avoid an oncoming strike. "Grimmjow," he said, never seizing his assault, "how'd everything go today?"

"Heh, it's always business with you. Why won't you give that bag a break and come fight me."

"I wouldn't want to hurt you," Ichigo smirked. "The only way to end a fight with you is to knock you out."

"You're just scared you couldn't end it," Grimmjow goaded.

"No." Ichigo did a swift combination, his breathing still steady despite the exertion. "I'm scared of injuring a valuable member of our team." He stop for a moment and looked over his shoulder, "Were you able to get the pen in the guy's bag?"

"Pfh, don't ask me dumb questions. Of course I did." Grimmjow stretched, walking closer to the man with each word. "I don't get how I'm suppose to get it back for you though."

"You won't have to," Ichigo grunted, "The pen was just a basic voice activated audio recorder, but Urahara installed a wireless voice transmitter that has no range, so we'll be able to plug in tonight and listen to their meeting."

"Leave the tech stuff to the crazy doc, I just need to know If I got to beat up that weakling again."

Ichigo just gave a noncommittal grunt and returned his full attention back to his task.

"I did want to ask though, who's doing that hit in a couple of days?" Grimmjow asked.

"What do you mean? I always do the hits." Ichigo stated flatly.

"Yeah," Grimmjow affronted, "but I thought this one involve long range shooting. Last time I checked, you're a pretty lousy shot."

"I can shoot," Ichigo reasoned, not even caring to give the impression that this conversation annoyed him. Mostly, it was just distracting. "Long range isn't my best, but I'm good enough to make the shot."

"Don't be fucking stupid," Grimmjow, in one leap of a step, shoved Ichigo's shoulder roughly, earning his direct attention. "Get Chad to do it, you know he would. He's the best shot."

Ichigo scowled only minutely before turning his attention back to his combination, speaking in between each thrust of the arm. "I've already told you this before, I don't want anyone else to be at risk of being caught, by the cops or the Yakuza."

Grimmjow's condescending grin could be seen from Ichigo's peripheral, only amplified by a low chuckle. "Maybe, but I think it's just because you enjoy taking those life's yourself."

Mid punch, Ichigo pulled back and looked at the man seriously. "I'm not like you, I don't get my kicks from causing people pain. I don't like it, but it also doesn't bother me. It's just what I have to do."

Even as he said it, Ichigo knew this was only the half truth. Though, Grimmjow's assumption certainly wasn't the missing piece to why Ichigo executed all the hits himself.

With Ichigo now back to his punches, Grimmjow laughed, "You've changed since high school, Kurosaki. You lost that fire in your eyes. If they catch you, they'll do anything if it means making you give up your accomplices."

Ichigo almost found the idea humorous. He was a man with no family, no life, nothing to lose. The possibility of getting caught or death had never been lost to him, in fact, he couldn't see this ending any other way, eventually. He'd already came to terms with it, though it wasn't something he ever found hard to swallow. After this was done, he'd have no other reason to live at all. So, in reality, nothing they did to him could ever make him talk. Till his body was lifeless in the dirt, he'd protect those around him, be everyone's martyr.

"I'm not one to squeal under pressure," his lips curved ominously as he gave the man an aslant glare. "You should know that, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow hummed impishly before moving out of the man's sight, only to reappear with his chest pushed up against Ichigo's back, pressing his clammy cheek against the man's neck as a humid breath tickled at Ichigo's ear. "You're talking about the time we fucked, miss it already?"

A not so gentle bite bared into the fleshly semi flushed patch of skin under Ichigo's jaw. The man blinked and sighed, and though he didn't move at first, he was in no mood to be indulging Grimmjow's twisted hedonic tendencies. "If you could call what you did sex," Ichigo huffed.

"Oh come on," Grimmjow rasped, licking the chafed skin he'd just sunk his teeth into almost in apology. It was comparable to the way husbands beat their wives, only to placate them with meaningless manipulative regret. "You let me do it. If you didn't like it, you could have said no."

"Funny," Ichigo smirked, the calmness of his temperament could be felt through the steady rise and fall of his lungs and the thumping of his pulse vibrating through his neck. "I recall saying no plenty of times. You just kept pestering me and touching me until I let you."

"Ha," Grimmjow laughed, "The Ichigo I know wouldn't just let anybody take him without his permission. You were strong enough to stop me if you wanted to. Admit it," he licked the shell of Ichigo's ear, letting one hand cascade Ichigo's back a little with each syllable, finding his way to the man's ass. "You liked it and you want it again."

"Careful, you're starting to sound like you think you own me." When Grimmjow just growled and continued his violation, Ichigo gave an almost non existent nasally scoff before he said, "Sure, Grimmjow, whatever you want."

Those words were met by Grimmjow's face being shoved into the punching bag and his arms pent back, the whirlwind of Ichigo's aggression leaving him thrown, albeit fugacious.

"If you want it, fine, but I think It's your turn to enjoy all of the fun you showed me," Ichigo whispered in such a controlled fashion that it was bone chilling. The air around them seemed to drop ten degrees despite the scorching body pushed against his.

Grimmjow squirmed and cursed, but undoubtedly, Ichigo was stronger. The man's whole existence spun on an axil of hardcore training. Still, despite being futile, he never stopped his twisting.

"Maybe I should put it in you dry and tear you up, we'll see how much you like it," Ichigo offered, smirking against the man's nape, imitating Grimmjow's creeping trek with his hand as it went down the man's back.

"Stop fucking around, Kurosaki. I know you ain't going to do shit, you don't have it in you," Grimmjow spat, looking over his shoulder as much as he could.

When Ichigo's hand did not stop, adrenaline coursed through his veins, a panic electrifying his whole body. He started to flail like a spooked horse. "Fuck, you didn't stop me, so don't blame me, god damnit. Alright? I wish you were how you use to be, it was no fun taking it when you gave it up so easily." A laugh erupted from his lungs, but it was out of place and filled with a nerve racking fright he couldn't shake. "So if you wanna fight, do it like a fucking man, don't pull this shit."

Hand now inert, Ichigo moved it to place more pressure on Grimmjow's arms being contorted behind his back, twisting one ever so slightly. "You said the Ichigo you knew would never let anyone take him if he didn't want it. There's just one problem with that," he leaned his weight in deeper, sending a scourge of pain running through the other's spine. "I'm not the Ichigo you knew. I don't know why you have this obsession with overpowering me, but I do know that when you did that, you were hoping I'd rather fight you or beg you to stop. If I fought you, it give you some kind of chance to prove yourself, to overpower me, but if I told you to stop, begged when you inevitably didn't, you'd also feel as if you overpowered me."

There was a grit in the man's delivery, yet what really shook Grimmjow in ineffable ways was the utter dearth of anger behind Ichigo's every lexeme. The abiding repose of his heartbeat, the composed and deliberate distribution of his speech, the calculated tactics for holding Grimmjow down, none were driven by rage or any other illogical, irrational emotion. This was a logical, cool-blooded contrivance, employed through the limpid eye's of a tactician, not eye's blinded by seething red. In some ways, that clarity and coldness was dangerously thrilling, surrounding the man in a tempest of skin prickling Icy winds exuding from Ichigo. These cold gust were more perilous than the most torrid volcanic eruption ever could hope to be.

A cold sweat excreted from Grimmjow at the next words. "I know you, Grimmjow. I knew what would hurt your pride more than anything was letting you take it and not stopping you, even when we both knew I could have." Right next to Grimmjow's ear, his controlled voice was spiked with a subtle, almost amused derision, bitter to the senses. "I bet it felt like I was mocking you. Well, guess what? I was."

In one movement, Ichigo released and shoved Grimmjow off to the side. Lifting his hands, he returned to his training as if nothing's had just occurred. "Get your shit together, Grimmjow. There's no reason for you to be trying to prove something, just like I have nothing to prove to you. Whatever problem you have with me, drop it."

Running off of pure hate, boiling his blood to the point of mindless animus, Grimmjow had to stop himself from charging the man like he so desperately desired. Yet, some nagging question pushed through that blinding outrage, and perhaps he even understood that his pride would only suffer more if did.

Quaking and oxidizing like a boiler on the fritz, Grimmjow's words were like spat embers. "Why? Why am I in the group?"

Some what taken by the question, Ichigo netted his eyebrows in question. "Why?"

"Yeah, why the fuck did you let me be apart of your little posse of super heroes? You know why I joined up, but I still can't figure why you let me. You can't trust me, you sure as fuck don't have a reason too. So why?"

"Because, the enemy of my enemy is my friend," he grunted, throwing everything he had into an upper cut. "I know how you feel about the Yakuza, especially the Inagawa-Kai. I know you hate them for what they did to Nel and you want your chance at the family head. Our purposes are different, but we can still help each other."

"You're wrong," Grimmjow rebutted lowly, "that's not the main reason I'm helping you."

Ichigo tilted his head slightly, only briefly stopping his assault. "Why then?"

"I asked you first, because don't think for a moment I believe that bull shit," Grimmjow seethed. "If I wanted too, If you pissed me off enough, I could ruin you and your little operation. I have no allegiance to you and I wouldn't think twice of dragging your fucking name through the dirt and handing it right on over to Aizen or the cops if I wanted." The man sneered while stepping a little closer. His voice was a low rumble, backed by a pungent anger. "So, you know what I think? I think you trust me because you think you can control me. You only asked for my help, someone you don't trust at all, because you think I'm easily handled if I get out of control, like a fucking dog they put down when it get's too aggressive. That shit you pulled right there is proof. It shows you have no fear when it comes to me. You trust me not to fuck you over in the same way a prison guard trust an inmate not to run away while there's a gun to their back." He let out something between a chuckle and a scoff before he said, "I don't like that shit. You don't own me."

Hand tightened in a fist, Ichigo let his knuckles rest against the bag as he hung his head, listening thoughtfully. Turning to the man, Ichigo reasoned, "I don't think nor do I want to own you. Honestly, I don't give a shit what you do, Grimmjow, as long as you don't start killing people, which you agreed to." Ichigo crossed his arms across his well built chest, putting on a more authoritative stance, his glare austere. "You're not stupid. You know if you went blabbering to the family head or the cops, it come right back to you. I trust you because we have mutual interest. We both have secrets worth dying for." His voice gravely like a freight train, Ichigo said, "My funeral is your funeral."

Something in Ichigo's words caused Grimmjow the slightest of comical smirks. "What? If I told the police you'd give them my name? I didn't think you did anything out of anger and spite. You only do something if it's beneficial to you."

Ichigo gave him a look so pointed and earnest in its cautionary message that it could wake the dead just to kill them again. "I don't need to be angry to threaten you, and following through on my threats is always beneficial to me. Though, if you get my friends any more caught up in this than they already are, you'll be surprised at how spiteful I can be."

Without a shadow of a doubt, Grimmjow knew Ichigo meant every word. Not out of malice, but simply for the fact that, if he didn't, his threat would be empty and therefore would not work. He blanched slightly, but showed none of his concern. "Friends, huh? I didn't think you had friends, just comrades or people you use."

Ichigo shook his head and began striking the punching bag once more. "They're people who help me and that I'd prefer nothing bad happen to. Maybe none of us are really friends, but it's the closest thing you'll get living the life we do."

"You sound so fucking cold. Ishida, Chad, Urahara, those guys love you," Grimmjow scoffed. "Maybe they don't say it as blatantly as that, but they consider you family. But hey, at _least_ you prefer nothing bad happen to them. How fucking sweet."

Ignoring the man, Ichigo gave one last savage pounding before he stopped, slowly unwrapping his hands and pulsing his fingers open and closed to work out the pain. "I don't have family," Ichigo reasoned, kneading his sore tendons. "So," he looked up at man with a cock of the eyebrow, "are you going to tell me your real reason for joining us?"

Snickering, Grimmjow said, "One day. I'm not in the mood right now." Strolling towards the door, he talked as he walked, sounding almost smug as he did so. "You know, I may miss those fiery eyes of yours, but man, those deathly cold eyes, I don't think I've seen anything more piss your pants worthy. Not giving a shit about anyone is a good look on you, Kurosaki."

 **xXx**

 **A/N Take Two: So there was something else I wanted to mention, but I didn't want to ruin any plot for you guy. I feel like this should be clarified, because some people may be confused and it's never going to be something I really bring up throughout the story. When I originally had the idea for this story and I knew I wanted to make a criminal/psychological fic, I wanted to figure out what could happen to Ichigo to make his character seem like he believably changed so drastically. I wanted his new personality to seem as if it could be derived from his more cannon personality if put in the right situation. After I got a lot of the plot situated, I realized I wanted him to have clinical apathy, which I did mention in the last chapter. I also mentioned that it's highly associated with types of dissociative disorders. So I started building from this. Dissociative disorders are usually related to unresolved trauma and can also involve repressed memories. The most well known example of this would probably be someone who was molested as a child and repressed the memory, only to later develop Dissociative personality disorder( Multiple personality.) So what Ichigo has is depersonalization disorder.(I'm not sure how well known this is, seeing as it's fairly new since it was misdiagnosed for years. Though it's also really common) The part where I describe Ichigo feeling out side of his body and not in control, that's what depersonalization disorder is. You actually feel like your body and consciousness split even though you're completely functioning. My friend who has this says it feels a lot like looking through life in a fog and you just have no control or really even care over what you do. It causes extreme apathy and just a disconnection from everything around you. It also can effect your memories and is know to repress them. Though, just to clarify, these are usually spells that can last from minuets to weeks. So Ichigo and most people who have this are not walking around like this 24/7. As it did for Ichigo, it can happen when a persons mind just can't deal with the information or if you're like my friend, for no reason at all. Though the apathy and stress that such an illness causes still sticks with the person out side of their spells. This, beautiful readers, is what a lot of Ichigo's character was formed from. I hope this helps!**

 **xXx**

 **clarit:** **I'm glad you enjoyed the psychological aspects of this story because that's a big part of the plot! I really wanted to build up the tension for Ichigo's character, but more so, I wanted people to kind of know what they were getting into. I know, I'm absolutely evil. Mwahaha, I had to leave you on a hook so you'd come back. lol. Of course Im not mad! I'm just happy you take the time to read my other A.U even when theres so much Yumi/Ikkaku stuff at first. Thank you for your reviews, there always so nice and encouraging. Good vibes~ Ashes**

 **Tee:** **You're absolutely right, this is a mix of western and eastern law and justice. I did a lot of research on the way Japan's policing works and there were a lot of holes that I had to fill in. You're right about them taking things at face value. They have a 99% conviction rate because they don't need any cause to arrest a person for questioning, and once they do, they can hold you for anywhere between 2 days - 23 days of nonstop interrogation until they basically drive you insane, making people give false confessions. Don't be sorry for a soap box! A fan fic author lives for this stuff. :) Good vibes, love. ~ Ashes.**

 **siwon611:** **Hey doll! Thanks for the review as always. That sounds interesting, I've never heard of it, but I'll have to check it out. I'm glad you like the way I characterize Byakuya. I've always thought he'd have such a dry wit and be the biggest smart ass. He's so smexy and I love writing for him. hehe ;) Good vibes ~ Ashes.**

 **Mai Kurosaki:** **I'm so glad you like this and my research is paying off! Actually, reading your story was what gave me this idea in the first place, so it makes me happy you like it. :) I agree that I may be giving a little to much information at one time. I've been trying to work on that because I want to keep a good tension throughout my story. My reasoning for it though, is because this is a really detailed story and will have tons of information that I'll have to go through, so while it seems like a lot, its really only scratching the surface. I hope you enjoy, love! Good vibes ~ Ashes.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello beauties. I hope that if you're in school as I am you've survived finals week to tell the tail. I won't give you some long drawn out author's note, because there's not much to say except that I'm totally in love with this story! Things get kind of sad, you may want to break out the tissues. lol Also, for those wondering when Ichigo and Byakuya will finally meet, it may be sooner than you think. ;)**

 **Please continue with your reviews, fav's, and all that stuff.**

 **Disclaimer: So in the first flashback(Flashbacks are always italics and separated into different scenes to make it less complicated for you guys.)theres mention of suicide. I know some readers have triggers, so I want to be fair to them. It's a flashback, so you won't really miss plot at all, but you will miss character development.**

 **Terms to know**

 **Henti: a pervert.**

 **Suijin: A Japanese water deity.**

 **Yasai Itame: A dish in Japan that is basically stir fry. It can have pretty much whatever you want in it.**

 **Good vibes~ Ashes.**

 **xXx**

 **What have I become, my sweetest friend?**

 **Everyone I know goes away in the end.**

 **You could have it all, my empire of dirt.**

 **I will let you down.**

 **I will make you hurt.**

 **\- Johnny Cash**

 **xXx**

 **Fester**

In an eight by eight interrogation room, the perimeters of a metal work table had been canvassed with the sheets of personal and professional information on over two dozen different ex badge wielders, all riddled with red, blue, and green circles or lines of importance, post it notes, and push pins. Each detail with even an iota of importance was color coordinated, categorized, and grouped in the way people collect all of the corner pieces of a puzzle before trying to fill in the bigger picture. This was every officer that fit the criteria for their perp, and somewhere in one of these seemingly insignificant minutiae was the key to figuring out who the ghost was. Hidden within the convoluted web constructed of the finer points of these men's lives was his track, of that, Byakuya was certain.

For the last five hours straight, Byakuya's world was only as big as the skirt of the table. His usually pristine attire had became as bedraggled as his train of thought with his shirt tails pulled from his trousers and the tie nosed around his neck dangling loosely. His vision was blurry and doubled from relentless staring and a tingling pressure stung every hair follicle of Byakuya's one track mind. The strands of messy raven hair were pulled back, each felt as heavy and thick as straps of leather tugging at his scalp. All of his muscles stiffened to the point of being arthritic from hours of his immovable determination, yet he still refused to step back and regroup. He felt so close yet equally as out of range.

A commingling pungency of stale cigarette smoke and perspiration made the air thick and the walls feel closer and closer. The whole room, the whole case, it was claustrophobic, choking him with the intimacy of it all. Everything was closing in and the answers and trails of this hunt were getting opaqued by the albatross of his own personal shortcomings.

This case, something about it kept him finding parallels in his own life, his own behaviors, giving him doubts on his own manner of handling the obstacles that had been set out in front of him. He kept wondering, had he actually jumped over each hurdle or much like this presumed Ghost, did he too just walk around them, ignoring their existence? Did he dissociate in his own, yet much milder way?

It kept him running around in circles, each paper feeling more like a personal mirror reflecting him. He was mentally drained and needed a break, needed to breath some air that didn't burn with the vapors of smoke, look at some walls that didn't seem to play tricks on his mind.

A perspective sullied by the filter of personal feelings could never be objective. Eye's that searched for self discovery within the tracts of it's prey could only be lead astray.

Perhaps this was his own subconsciouses way of telling him he needed to step back, clear up the ramblings of his own self - doubt before he could clearly solve this case. Yet, did Byakuya have time for self reflection and actualization in the middle of such an important case? He barely had time to drink a cup of coffee. However, keeping personal ties out of a case was imperative to it's success, something Byakuya had always been able to do. Being the nonpartisan man that he was, his greatest strength had always been his ability to be candor, impartial. Yet, when delving into the entrails of a criminal, their gears and cogs that keep them ticking, one could only stay so detached. Some cases were easier than others, but this case, something about it, something about the Ghost picked at every emotional scar he had, making him painfully aware that they were not as healed as he'd like to believe.

A light ding sound came from his wristwatch. He checked the time and sighed slightly while reaching into his bag to take out a prescription bottle, opening it up, and tapping out one blue square pill in the palm of his hand. For a moment, he hesitated, thinking back on more unwelcome thoughts.

 **xXx**

 _Some pitter pattering of rain and the scuffing of shoes across the floor were all that seemed to register within his oblivion. How long had he been down there on his knees cradling the stiff and oh so cold form of his lover? Seconds? Minuets? Possibly hours or days for all he knew. Time ceased to exist when he payed it no mind. Reality was nothing but a concept when he didn't measure it._

 _As much as he wanted to stay locked in this suspended epoch where there was only this numbing disbelief, where the cold dead truth of life couldn't sink in and he'd have to begin living a life full of the consequences of his bereavement, something more instinctual pulled at him. His abeyant resilience was now crawling it's was up to the surface, reaching for the light shining through the blurred division between comatose and awareness._

 _Still holding on to that last little glimmer of repudiation, he pulled the man closer, squeezing his lids shut so tightly that it was as if he was wishing, praying, for time to rewind, for his lovers bright and buoyant eyes to be glaring at him in the affectionate manner they'd done one hundred times before._

 _When he opened his eyes, they saw the blue hue of bloodless lips and a skin so blanched it was bordering on transparent. This did not feel like Ren. He no longer smelled like Ren and in a way, he barely even looked like himself, but there was no denying it. This was Ren._

 _The man was so small, but his body, his corps, it felt heavier than any of the other times he held him close. Just dead weight where the flinty bundle of limbs lied constricted. Perhaps it was the rigor mortis or perhaps it was the knowledge this would be the last time he held him._

 _Lips slightly parted, the man looked so tranquil, as if death received him with an open skeletal embrace, taking him to a better place among the darkness. In the darkness, he could rest._

" _Keibu Kuchiki-san." Byakuya turned his head, his eye's meeting with the pitying brown slits of his Keibu-ho, Renji. Those eyes, he didn't like how they held such a heavy ruth. Was this that bad? Did he look that pathetic? He supposed he did, but that knowledge wasn't enough to make him care, not right then anyway. When Byakuya just leered at him oddly, almost as if he was looking past him, Renji tried again. "Kuchiki-san, they say you've been here for an hour. They tried getting you to let go but.." his words veered off as his captain's solemn eyes floated back down to his lover. Reaching out a hand, Renji went to grab Byakuya's arm, hoping to rein him back into reality slowly. "Kuchiki-san.." he leaned in closer, whispering, "they called me only because they know of who you are and your reputation. If they so desired, they could arrest you.. You should get up now.."_

 _At the hand's moving to shift his positioning, move him forward into another scary, obscurely unfathomable moment in which he'd have to go on existing in ways he did not yet understand how, he jolted, and Renji pulled his hand back immediately. "No." He shook his head. "I need some more time..just..I.." he looked back up at the man, Renji's eyes almost begging for a forgiveness that made no sense. As if he was just sorry to be another part of this merciless asinine world they spun within. "Just..a couple of more moments, that's all I need."_

 _Though the worry did not subside, Renji shook his head yeah. His face mellowed in resignation. "Yeah, whatever you need." He let a whisper of a smile pull at his lips. "You can count on me."_

" _Hey, I thought I told you we need to get out of here," said a short scrawny man, eyes drooping with irritancy. "He can see his buddy in the morgue, now hurry the hell up."_

 _Renji scowled, going from his knelt position to a more bodacious build. Back straight, shoulders squared, chin high, he stood vigilant in front of his captain, like a guardian. "You know that's a damn lie," Renji scowled, challenging the man with fiery eyes. "He's not family, so they won't let him in."_

 _Growling at the show of intimidation, the man said, "As it should be. The shame of what these two henti's are is probably what drove this man to it. His family, I can only imagine their embarrassment." At Renji taking a few steps forward, invading the man's space with his blistering anger barely being encumbered by the last shred of his civility and patience in tact, the man's disgusted expression falter slightly while he tried to stand his ground._

" _You keep your opinions to yourself, they're not welcome here." Renji's arms were tightly crossed against his chest in an attempt to busy them. For it was taking every bit of his good sense to not pummel the man. "Kuchiki-san was Ozawa- san's only family. His parents disowned him a long time ago. You know as well as I do that this is his last moment with him. Even if the family performs a funeral, he'll not be allowed to attend. So he'll take as much time as he needs and you and your flock of vultures will get over it." Pointing at Byakuya, who was brushing Ren's hair out of his face in an affectionate yet heartbroken manner, Renji practically growled, "Do you even know who that man is? Have some respect."_

 _Revolted, the man spate, "I don't have respect for homos."_

" _Bastard" was all Renji said before he raised a well deserved fist to the man, but his logic was drawn back in by a strong female voice._

" _Renji-san, I got your message." Yoruichi, looking exasperated from worry, stood a few feet behind the altercation. Though, her eyes also held a warning, telling the man his aggression would help nothing._

" _Yoruichi-san, this man," he rattled, his fist trembling with a need, "he said-"_

" _Oh, I heard him," she said, walking with her hands in pockets up beside the two. When she stopped beside the coroner, she gazed at him hatefully and with an air of authority. "Stand down," she growled at the man._

 _Somewhat taken aback yet equally as appalled, he dismissed, "I don't take orders from a-"_

" _What," Yoruichi interrupted, perking her eyebrow in condescension, "a women? A homo? Your hateful interpretation of words don't mean anything to me. So unless you want our Keibu to speak with yours about your disrespect and insolence, I suggest you stand down."_

 _Recoiling at the golden orbs so intensely burrowing into his, he cringed, "Look, no matter what, we have to take the body. I'm just doing my job here. It's been an hour, for kami sake."_

 _Sighing, Yoruichi pleaded, "Just five more minutes, give us that." Not waiting for approval, Yoruichi walked passed the men and to a sedated Byakuya, kneeling back on her heels beside him. He gave her a flashing look before looking back down to the still face of Ren. It was almost as if he thought he'd look back and eventually, maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be happening._

 _Yoruichi looked down at Ren with a sad smile. The jet black hair was sloshed over eye's with pupils so huge that they looked like eclipse's covering tiny transparently blue orbs. His ivory skin was as cold and achromatic as a glacier, yet the man had this peaceful way to his features._

" _Ren was always very beautiful," Yoruichi commented._

" _Yes, even in death." A trail of wet salty residue cascaded Byakuya's cheeks and when he spoke, his voice was guttural, but meek and empty._

 _Swallowing a lump of uncertainty, Yoruichi smiled, "Inside and out."_

" _He was so.." Byakuya's words stopped, as if they just hurt to much. "..I never thought this would happen..When we met in college, I was so drawn to how strong and vivacious he was, despite how life had been so cruel to him. Always, he always thought of others and was such a resilient man. He was so sweet and soft spoken." Instinctively tugging the man a little closer, "I should have noticed. Was I that absorbed in my job that I-I." A cracking sound hitched his voice at the cortisol filling his veins, causing a phantom lump tightening his throat and a brick atop of his diaphragm. As his body felt like it was being filled with tears, coursing in at expeditious rates, his head felt as if it had hit the ceiling of his insides and he was just bobbing above the sea of saline, gasping for breaths. "I should have notice," he gritted. "I am- was his lover. How selfish I must have been that I didn't notice his pain had grown so rampant."_

 _Byakuya felt burning fingers intertwine with his. His own were icy from clutching Ren for so long and the warmth felt a little too real. "No, Byakuya. Don't do that, don't blame yourself. Ren...he needed help, more than one man could offer. You loved him so much, and I know, because I saw it. Ren..he didn't show it because he was always thinking of others, and he probably was thinking of you in someway." At his fingers clenching tighter and his nose wrinkling in an attempt to hold back tears, Yoruichi said, "You would have climbed Mount Fuji for Ren, but you can't be everything for one person, because it doesn't leave room for you to be anyone else. You're also a Kibue, a friend, a brother, a whole separate person." Looking down at the corpse, somewhere between being angry at his selfishness and being angry at herself for her anger at him, she sighed deeply. Killing yourself doesn't end your pain. No, it only passes it down. "You would have done anything for him, and no, it wasn't enough, but in no way is that your fault."_

 _Byakuya said nothing, just glared pensively. Yoruichi was thinking about how overrated words were and how they often were never enough. "Do you remember calling the police?" Yoruichi asked._

 _Shaking his head no, Byakuya muttered, "But I must have." After a shared moment of silence, Byakuya said, "He used helium. It's the least painful way to end one's life and also one of the most successful. He must have been so certain. He..he didn't even leave a note behind." His voice cracked with a hint of betrayal and Yoruichi squeezed his hand to help anchor him._

 _She could see the confusion, the questions, the closure he'd never be granted. It spun around in his eyes like a world pool sucking everything else into their grasp. All she knew to say was, "Maybe he knew words wouldn't be enough and that nothing he said could bring any solace to this. Maybe he felt like you didn't need the words to understand him and that their existence would only keep you looking back."_

" _Well they mean something!" the man snapped. "Perhaps they're never perfect, but their something.."_

 _How the woman wished she could find the words, some kind of phrase that would assuage the pain and bring just a bit clarity. She wished she could say something that would make it just a bit easier for Byakuya to get up, to take that one leaping step. God, if words did mean anything, she hoped in just that moment to find the right ones. "You have to get up, Byakuya. Renji and I are holding them off for a now, but eventually, we have to let them do their jobs." Byakuya let out a jagged sigh of despondency, but made no attempts to move, not quite yet. His leg's couldn't even fathom it. "Right now, I know that you probably can't even imagine what's supposed to come next. There are no rules for this thing and at times, just breathing will seem like such a labor. Living life, having to move on from this horrible situation, it's terrifyingly inconceivable, and maybe you don't care right now, but you have to care for the sake of future Byakuya." She smiled softly at the drained glassy gray's. "I know future Byakuya would kick this Byakuya's ass if he got himself arrested tonight. For that man, you must move forward," standing, she reached out a hand, "but that all starts with standing up."_

 _Biting his lip, he eyed the hand apprehensively yet nodded in consession. Before he was able to change his mind, he quickly yet gently laid Ren on the floor and took his friend's hand._

 _No longer did he move did the coroner's move into action, fearing a relapse from the man. Perhaps it was the emotional strain finally hitting him, maybe it was the reality, the feeling of warmth returning to his skin when not huddled around the body of his lover, but almost immediately, Byakuya felt ill. "Kami sake, I'm going to be sick," Byakuya moaned out, fleeing for the bathroom._

 _Taking one last look at the scene, Yoruichi followed behind the man. The sounds of shameless regurgitation filled her eardrums before she ever got to the bathroom. Byakuya was craned over his toilet, one hand grabbing onto an adjacent counter and the other pitifully holding back strands of hair. Removing a hair bow from her own pony tail, she took the liberty to pull Byakuya's hair out of his face. He was to sick to even argue it, despite his distaste for being doted on like a child. A palm was rubbing his back, alleviating some of the stabbing pain that seemed to be piercing his lungs._

 _Yoruichi looked up when she saw Renji leaning against the open archway to the bathroom, that same look of abject defeat presence in his eyes. She could understand how he was feeling. He wanted to help somehow, someway, yet when a person you care for loses the person they love, everything you thought you knew about being there for someone went out the door. You were a toddler grasping for the concept of astrophysics. He wanted to help, but he was so scared of overdoing it, only hurting the man more._

 _Truth be told, Yoruichi was left speechless too. She'd never had a lover who died. However, she did love a man, but now they were practically dead to each other. In some ways, it was the same. There was no one right way to go about this, but there were definitely wrong ways. "Renji-san, go back to the division and inform everyone that Byakuya won't be back for a least a few days."_

 _Through his last bit of heaving, Byakuya rasped, "Nonsense, they need me."_

" _You'll have plenty of time to bury yourself in your work, but you need to go through these feelings and allow yourself to express them without the stress of holding it together for your division." With a sigh, Yoruichi suggested, "And I can call Rukia-san."_

" _No," Byakuya asserted before closing his eyes, letting a wave of nausea pass by. "She's studying abroad and will insist on coming to Tokyo."_

" _That's what family does, Byakuya. That's why I'm staying the night." At the man's incipient argument, she dismissed, "Just one night, don't argue with me on this."_

 _Turing on some cold water, Byakuya grumbled. "Fine, you incessant women," he conceded before cupping some water in his palms and splashing it on his face._

" _I've been called worse," Yoruichi hummed. Meeting Byakuya's overtly given out frame, all light drained from his face, she said what she knew to be true. "You'll get through this, Byakuya."_

 **xXx**

It was the sound of an opening door and the presence of Renji that pulled Byakuya from his thoughts. Putting his palm up to his mouth, Byakuya swallowed the pill and forwent his water. Though the taste was bitter, he didn't let it show on his expression.

Renji, holding a small food container, looked at him with a touch of knowing concern. Byakuya couldn't help but think back to the way Renji had looked at him that night and the way it had made him feel oddly on display. Though, that wasn't Renji's fault, but his own pride. It was a moment of completely earnest human suffering, something rarely seen from even the more emotionally in touch individuals. It was only normal to look at someone that way when in the wake of it. It was only normal to feel bad for a person in those moments. It wasn't pity, but mere human empathy. Still, even realizing that, such compassion only made him more aware of how bare he was.

Byakuya had been breed to be a prideful, tenacious, and disciplined man. A man who never fell victim to his own emotions, despite how vast those emotions were. As an investigator of homicide, he butted wills against some of the most wretched minds that seemed to function for the pure purpose of emotional manipulation. Being logical and guarded just came with the territory and made him one of the most impenetrable captains of his time. As a result, he was also one of the best. So it wasn't unexpected for Byakuya to feel uneasy at such a flagrant manifestation of his anguish. It was simply the nature he'd been conditioned with since childhood.

Before Ren died, though he could be distant and gingerly in complexion, it wasn't something he did purposefully. In fact, he had nothing against growing closer to people, it was just his way about him that made it difficult, therefor a scarce occurrence. More so, while some had considered him without much feelings, a briny depth of emotions lived within him, the waves of such an ocean quiescent and controlled. As if he was Suijin, the goddess of water, he had full authority over his sea within.

In his line of work, he noticed that everyone had this sea within. For many, it would rage, causing a typhoon of chaos to shine through the surface. Perhaps he was Suijin, because Byakuya was the deity of controlling these internal seas, pressing someone's buttons or invading them mentally until the person's resolve shattered. It's what made him the best, the true apex predator. Still, within your greatest strength, you can often find your greatest weakness.

After Ren was a different story. Byakuya took a more active role in keeping people out. He buried himself in work and could sometimes be rather rigid towards people, even the ones he cared for. Yet, he'd been with his unit for years before he became a captain, before Ren's death. So though he tried to shut others away, it wasn't something that his closer comrades, Yoruichi, Shinji, and Renji, made simple. Like a family, they loved him despite, if not for his more difficult parts. They loved him through his pain, each in their own special ways, never giving up on or being deterred when his more hateful side came out. After a while, though he never opened himself to others in the way he might have in the past, he stopped trying to be so intently impressionable. Now, even if he never said it or showed it in any conventional manner, the people who knew him best knew how deeply his care really extended.

He even allowed himself to become close to Renji. Well, as close as Byakuya Kuchiki could get to a person. Though, life did seem to keep pushing them into these shared moments of intimate anguish, an anguish that no one other than themselves could understand. Renji had seen him at his worst - immobile and shattered from shock as he sat on the floor without care - while they were still relatively new to each other.

That was back when Renji always addressed him properly. Years past and they spent just about everyday of their lives in close contact with each other, being that they were captain and lieutenant, so growing close was only inevitable. He remember the first time Renji called him 'Byakuya-san'. By the red hue of humiliation that shaded his cheeks, it was obvious it had been an accident. He just sat, fingers twiddling in anxiety and head hung humbly, waiting for the sharp reprimand that Renji was sure to come. Surprising even himself, Byakuya said nothing. After that, Renji would occasionally call him by his first name, slipping it in as if he was getting away with something. Byakuya found it humorous because letting Renji call him that was something he'd always _allowed_. Not because he particularly liked it, but because it felt almost wrong to deny the man that, seeing as, other than Yoruichi, Renji was the closest thing he had to a friend. With time, he gradually called him Byakuya more and more. After that night at the warehouse, Byakuya was the only thing he regarded him as.

Perhaps, he thought, talking to Renji about how he felt could help him understand what to do. Though, he already had his own ideas. The thing was, the reason he felt okay with opening up even just a sliver to the man was because Renji didn't intimidate him. In all honestly, the man had always followed him around like a stray pup, idolizing if not depending on Byakuya, especially after _that_ night. Byakuya would even admit that he was protective of the man in the way one would be for a kohai or even a younger sibling. In that regard, he could tell Renji certain little things without ever being too exposed, because like a child that venerated their parent without judgment, Renji blindly admired the man. Though, like a parent to a child, even if Renji would tell him his every thought, Byakuya knew keeping most of his darker parts sealed was beneficial for both of their protection. He didn't want to burden the man when he was suppose to be protecting him. You see, while Byakuya was close to Renji, Renji was not close to Byakuya. No. No one was truly close to him, because he didn't let that happen.

Walking over to the opposite side of the table, Renji sat down the box. "Hey, Byakuya. I bought some food and figured you could share it with me." Renji smiled, "I'm sure you're getting hungry by now."

"Among other things," Byakuya sighed. He took a seated position at the table and Renji followed his lead. "Is this your not to subtle way of checking up on me?" Byakuya asked flatly, yet with a hint of amusement.

"I guess you caught me," Renji beamed, handing a pair of chopsticks to Byakuya before carefully moving some papers and settling the tray in between them. "But hey, a man can't live off of cigarettes and coffee alone."

With scrutiny, Byakuya eye'd the food in front of him. Renji was the worst liar he'd ever met, this was certain. In the container was one of Byakuya's favorite Yasai Itame dishes, complete with seaweed and wasabi. Byakuya knew for a fact that Renji hated spicy food. Breaking apart his chopsticks, Byakuya said, "For an ex investigator, your inability to form a basic lie is baffling, Renji-san. Though, I appreciate the gesture."

Before placing a bit of food in his mouth that Byakuya was sure he wasn't going to enjoy, with a hint of a smirk Renji said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

With only the tiniest bit of sarcasm lacing his voice, Byakuya said, "Of course."

Both sat in silence for a moment while they ate. Renji noticed the way Byakuya grasped his own shoulder to work out a kink, a gesture that the agent would usually consider too inappropriate to do in front of many people, as if admitting he was in pain would somehow make him look weak. Yet the two had become so habituated to the others presence that such indications of, what Byakuya considered, fragility often shined through the cracks in the man's perfectly contrived demeanor. Though, if Renji were to bring it up or offer to bring him something for his pain, the man would just wave him off and become more conscious about his gestures. In that regard, the only way Renji could ever extend his help to the stubborn and prideful agent was through sly means. Yet, as Byakuya just noted, those were not his strong suit. Renji wished the man wouldn't be so pig headed and just allowed Renji to be there for him more, because to Renji, that was all he wanted, to be there for Byakuya through his bad times.

Amongst configuring a plan to make Byakuya take something for his pain and somehow think it was his idea, his thoughts were interrupted when Byakuya asked, "How are thing going with the others?"

"Good," Renji claimed, "I'm holding down the fort pretty nicely. Muguruma-san and Hisagi-san are investigating the algae lead while Madarame-san is talking to some criminal informants. Yoruichi-san ran off somewhere, but she didn't tell me where, and everyone else is pretty much waiting on your next orders." The agent gave somewhat of a tired chuckle. "Truth be told, the rest kind of feel antsy just sitting on their hands, but there aren't any real moves we can make right now. Mostly, they've been looking through copies of these same case files you've been looking at, seeing if they see something that sticks out, but no one's been able to find anything too shocking."

"Tell them to enjoy their idled hands while they can," Byakuya deadpanned. "Trust that such peace will be a rarity in the days to come."

Smiling, Renji said, "With our resident investigating genius working on the case, I'm sure the ball will start rolling anytime." Giving up in his attempt to stomach the food in front of him, Renji sat down his chopsticks. "Anyway, the real interesting stuff is going on in here," he perked an eyebrow. "Have you found anything interesting?"

The agent glanced at the papers he had moved to the side in contemplation. There were a little over one hundred files that fit the description of thirtysomething, male ex - officers and out of those, the task force was able to identify twenty five in which the Yakuza played a negative role in each person's life. All twenty five would eventually be interrogated, however, to narrow the scope, Byakuya was looking for something that stood out, a red flag or a file that just was different from the rest. He'd spent the better part of five hours playing where's Waldo with the personal lives of ex officers, hunting for an event ghastly enough to turn a man into the unfeeling machine of murderous cunning know as the ghost. As of yet, he'd found nothing.

Sighing lightly, Byakuya said, "I would not use the word interesting, unless coming up with absolutely nothing is a source of entertainment."

Frowning a bit, Renji said, "It's there, you'll figure it out. You use to love this though," the man reminisced, arching his body forward. "Searching until you thought your eyes would roll back into your head. Heh," he laughed, "like the frustration of the challenge was part of the fun for you."

Trying not to look troubled, Byakuya glanced back over to the papers, and to himself more than Renji, he said, "Yes, but something just doesn't sit right with me." After a moment of pursing his lips and looking away from Renji, he finally returned his attention. "Renji-san, do you remember how I was like after Ren's death?"

Renji faltered slightly at the unforeseen question. It was unlike Byakuya to ask him such personable things or the bring up Ren. It had always seemed as if the man was actively avoiding thinking about these things and Renji respected that. Though he'd sometimes confide in him after the warehouse incident, it was always in the most veiled ways possible. So something so barefaced and on the nose had the agent momentarily at sea.

Rubbing the nape of his neck, Renji colored slightly. "Um, Byakuya, is everything okay? I know it's been difficult getting back into the swing of things here."

"I do believe I asked you a question first," Byakuya said, before directing his eyes to the hands fidgeting a bit in his lap. "Things have been..different, but it's nothing I can not handle."

Demurely, Renji asked, "I did want to ask, what made you want to take this case? You seemed pretty adamant about staying away."

Byakuya sat silently contemplating, looking into his nail beds. Lifting his gaze, he said, "It's something about this case. It challenges me in every facet. Not only will it push my skills as a detective, but the moral ambiguity, the psychology behind this man, it will push me mentally and it will push my rectitude. These are the cases men like myself live for."

"I know how you feel about the yakuza and even more so the corruption that goes on up the latter, so maybe you find yourself relating to the reasons of the ghost some." Confidently, Renji said, "That's normal, but even if your morals are pushed, you'll always walk the line with this case just like all the others."

Byakuya gave a considering noise before looking off introspectively. "I do not believe a man has ever challenged me so immensely." Only on the case for a week, a man Byakuya had never met was somehow gradually eroding at the pillars of his constitution, challenging the typical habitudes that made him the man he was today. Netting his brow, Byakuya gave Renji a look that said it was his turn to answer Byakuya's question.

"Distant," Renji finally answered, although somewhat solemnly. "You buried yourself in work, shut yourself in and everything else out. More than usual, I mean." With a simper, Renji said, "I guess you still do it in a way."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Byakuya nodded in affirmation, his still features seeming to be highlight by a thoughtful sadness. "I blamed myself for giving all of my attention to this unit for Ren's death," Byakuya spoke after a few moments of silence, taking Renji a back even more. "So afterwards, I felt as if my position as the leader of homicide was what Ren died for, and the only way to make it mean anything was by putting everything I had into the division, the one thing I had left."

Without sound, both sat amidst in the sobering aftermath of Byakuya's confession. At Byakuya looking almost enervated yet relieved at the heavy truth of his words, Renji's body felt weighted down with empathy and concern.

"It wasn't until _that_ night my guilt caught up to me," Byakuya spoke once again, still looking through the smoky ambiance as if looking through the days of his past. "That night affected us both deeply. I started having these nightmares about that night..about Ren, and for once in my life, I could not control my emotions. I felt anxious and irritable constantly, always on edge from the memories of that night." He finally brought his gaze up to Renji, who was looking at Byakuya as if it was the first time he had seen him. "Though, what the ghost helped me realize is, after Ren, I wasn't merely controlling my emotions, I was avoiding them in the same manner he may, trying to dissociated with all the guilt and sorrow brought about by his death. That's why, instead of obtain counseling to deal with the stress of what we both saw, in the way you did, I just took the medicine. I-" his breath hitched slightly as he closed his eyes and sighed, "I didn't want to relive all of those horrible things. I didn't want to appear weak, because I know how they treat men like you and I, men who have been deemed mentally unstable an-"

The clashing sound of a fist hitting metal made Byakuya's eyes shoot open to see a scowling red faced Renji. "Their wrong," he practically growled. "You're not unstable. I'm not unstable. We saw some really messed up stuff and had a perfectly normal reactions. I don't want those damn no nothing's affecting the way you think of yourself. I'd like to see how they'd feel if they saw the shit we saw," he spat bitterly, completely outraged by the thought.

Byakuya's rich baritone was guttural yet remedying to the fury jaundicing the other's aura. "I agree. Yet I would never wish such a sight on anyone," he averted his eyes, hiding the whisper of acerbically harrowing flashbacks swelling in those expressive greys. Even when Byakuya's face was unmovable, sheer layers of glassed emotions could be distinguished. Those eyes held the pent up pressure of all the tribulation that he imprisoned within himself to only be dealt with in solitude. "I don't want to be like the ghost," Byakuya admitted softly, "hiding from my emotions like some child hides from the dark that will inevitably always be there. These things only have as much power as we give them. This medicine, it only succeeded in numbing me, keeping me from any true resolution. Perhaps I should have considered counseling in the way you did.."

Catching his breath, Renji jumped forward in his seat urgently. "It's not too late. It's never too late, Byakuya. You've always known yourself well and I think you know deep down if this is what's best for you."

Smiling subtly, Byakuya nodded. "Yes. I believe this is the answer I'm looking for. I can be weaned of this medicine and start dealing with all of these residual effects in some healthier manner." At the irony of it all, Byakuya couldn't help but to smirk, "Out of everyone in the world, it was this mystery man who made me realize that. I suppose life is strange at times."

Renji felt an unidentifiable sensation, a happiness mixed with a sort of envy that he didn't even want to try to understand. Smiling, he said, "That's what keeps it interesting."

With a look of deep scrutiny, Byakuya eyed the papers beside the two for a sustained silence. Renji knew that meant the man was on the verge of something possibly big, so he sat patiently. Clearing his throat, Byakuya said, "We'll be interviewing all twenty five of these ex - officers as soon as possible. However," his eyes sharpened, "I believe because I was looking for my own answers within these pieces, I was overlooking my own good logic. The ghost is not among these men, or so I believe."

Confused, Renji said, "But you just said t-"

"Yes," Byakuya clarified, "It would be shoddy detective work to not cover all of our bases. However, none of these men have had such trauma that it would lead to an operation like this nor a personage like the ghost. None of them fit. Though, to be fair, everyone's mind works differently. Therefore, it's impossible to determine the damage caused from person to person by a specific event." Humming and tapping his fingers against the metal table, Byakuya said, "Perhaps Yoruichi-san missed something. Where did she run off to?"

"Uh, well, I'm not-" The agent was interrupted by the opening of the door behind him, as they both looked up to see none other that Yoruichi.

"You speak of the devil and she shall appear," Byakuya scoffed at the women's boisterous entrance.

"Ah, don't tell me you boys were at a lost without me already?" the woman smirked. "It's only been," checking her watch, "an hour."

Leaning back with arms crossed, Byakuya perched an eyebrow. "Care to let in on what exactly you've been dipping your paws into? It's unlike you to just storm off unless you're causing trouble."

"Yeah, I was out talking to one of my connection about a specific file." Yoruichi sighed in annoyance, "Unfortunately, they were of no help."

"A file? I thought you handed every file of importance over to me," Byakuya asked, netting his brow in confusion.

"Not this one," Yoruichi explained, now shifting through her bag to pull out a beige file and holding it up in the air. "Now, before you go getting all pissy on me, I had my reasons." Throwing the file down on the table in front of him, she assumed, "I think you'll understand when you read it."

With his curiosity tickled at the possibility that this was the missing link, Byakuya took no time in shuffling through the pages. As he read, the intrigue in his eyes became more pungent with every sentence. "This officer, he's missing and presumed dead," he spoke out loud before he was met with more striking information. "I see.." he said, his eye's lifting back up to Yoruichi who was smiling earnestly. "It says here his father and sisters died in a nondescript accident, yet..the whole case has been marked as classified. There aren't even any dates included." Now looking to Renji, he added, "Classified even above the NPA's jurisdiction."

"Classified?" the agent baffled, "but why would just an accident be classified information?"

"People don't put a lock on a box unless they don't want people to see what's inside," Yoruichi stated obviously.

"So, when you said you were talking to a connection, you were really trying to dig up some of this classified information?" Renji asked.

When Yoruichi nodded, Byakuya asked a question of his own. "And this connection, who are they?"

As her eyes averted and she thought back to early that day, the officer contemplated if giving up the source was the right thing to do.

 **xXx**

 _Standing in front of a large metal door among a cold and desolate hallway, Yoruichi took a composing breath. She felt her fingers twitch slightly as she pulled the strap of her bag closer, trying to shake away some of the nervousness that had found her on the way over. How long had it been? What would he say? Would he even look at her the same? Probably not, but that wasn't the reason she came. Still, despite her puckish bravado and stature of confidence, she felt all of three feet tall standing in front of that door, standing in front of her past._

 _She looked up to a small camera that was perched above the door and couldn't help but to roll her eyes at the typically circumspect behavior. She bet he already knew she was here and was humorously speculating on how long it would take for her to knock on the door._

 _All day she could stand there and that door would never seem smaller or less foreboding than it was in that moment. In fact, it would probably only intimidate her more with every second she hesitated. So, she knocked._

 _Five seconds dragged out, feeling like a whole lifetime before the door opened and her eye's were met with gapped greys taking her in as if he'd seen a ghost. "Yoruichi-san," the man said, an astonishment apparent in his featured._

 _With a wry smirk, she said, "Kisuke." They both just stood there for a moment, neither saying anything as they became acclimatized to the feeling of seeing each other after so many years._

 _Finally the buoyantly sly smirk that distinguished the man found a place on the blond's face. "Are you here to arrest me, Officer?" he taunted._

 _Shoving the man's shoulder, she let her eyes float up to the camera before teasing, "Paranoid as always, I see. You going to let me in or make your old friend stand out here all day?" She asked, already walking past the man._

 _With a breathy chuckle, Urahara said, "Where are my manners?"_

 _Ambling into the room, Yoruichi took a one over the area, noting it looked like a fitting set up for a man such as a Urahara Kisuke. It was nearly barren excluding a jillion of different types of computers and modems, the entrails of different mechanics laying dissected in the tentative scientist's abode. "I see you're up to your old tricks. It must be true what they say about old dogs," she turned her attention back to the man, who was pouring some recently made tea into a mug._

 _Walking over, he said, "I wont tell your secret if you don't tell mine," before handing the women the piping hot beverage._

 _Cocking an eyebrow, Yoruichi repeated, "My secret?"_

" _How would it look if an officer was associating with a known criminal?" he continued the smirk, though it felt a bit forced, almost being driven by an acrimonious derisiveness. "Oh, the shame."_

" _Phf," Yoruichi scoffed before blowing away some of the steam rising from her tea. "I think I'd find a way to live with myself." Her eye's mellowed as she said, "When I looked you up, I was surprised to see you moved back to Tokyo. I thought for sure you'd stay in America."_

 _Shrugging a shoulder in his trademark aloofly playful manner, Urahara said, "Sorry to disappoint. I missed the food enough that it made the public ridicule worth it."_

 _In Japan, being labeled a criminal was to be considered a social leopard. You were even striped of your honorifics, considered unworthy of the respect of others. It was this way for all criminals, no matter the finer details of each individual's crime. These criminals were swiped of all gray matter that could justify or make more relatable the actions behind their crimes and were left only with the ugly one sidedness of a black and white filter. Arrested for cyber terrorism, Urahara was branded the worst of the worst, a rebel against Japan and it's citizens. Though, because the evidence against him wasn't as solid as the prosecution had hoped, his sentence was truncated, and Urahara was released only after three years. Afterwards, he knew he needed to leave the country, find a way to keep up his work in other places where eyes wouldn't be watching him so vigilantly, at least until he became no more than a toxic afterthought in the memories of the Japanese government._

 _Sighing, Yoruichi gathered her confidence, pulling the file she carried with her out of her bag. "I know this is sudden, but for all times sake, I need your help. I'm working on a case and I need your special expertise."_

 _Pursing his lips, Urahara took a gander. "This is about the ghost I presume?" At the woman's confused eye's, Urahara explained, "I know you work homicide and I also know that the NPA Agent Kuchiki-san has been set to the case, your old Keibu. It's been all over the news. It wasn't so hard to put together," he smiled._

" _I don't know why'd I expect anything less from you," she said, handing the man the file. "There's classified information that I know you could access in a matter of minuets."_

 _Looking through the file, Urahara concealed any telling expressions from his face. Though, he knew he couldn't tell the woman the truth, he also thought better than lying straight out. This was a cardinal rule of deception, tell as much as the truth as the possible. Not only does it keep one's lies from becoming overly convoluted, it also allows a person to appear sincere in their falsehood. Yes. Like the double dealing master he was, Urahara knew the game of omission and played it_ _well._

 _Handing the file back over to the woman, he shook his head in rebuttal. "I can't look into this for you."_

 _Chafed, the woman snarled, "And why not?"_

" _Because," he said somberly, "I know the Kurosaki's on a personal level. Isshin was a close friend of mine and so were his kids."_

 _Taken aback, Yoruichi asked, "I never knew you were friends with an ex Keibu!"_

 _At the woman's shock, Urahara gave a fraudulent laugh. "Don't be so surprised. We met in the military, way back before he was even married or had kids, before I was labeled a leach on society."_

" _So," Yoruichi questioned, her voice piquing with interest, "you know his son? Do you have any clue where he might be?"_

" _No," he said, "but I wish I did. Dead, I assume, just like his family." Giving the woman an out of character look of intensity, he said, "I won't look into them. I won't dishonor their deaths by digging up information and handing it over to the police so they can slander their good names."_

 _Gripping tighter to the file, a wave of resigned disappointment flooded the woman. She knew Urahara and that look of decisiveness in his eyes. Fighting against it would be futile, and his choice was something she not only had to respect, but did. "Fair enough," she nodded. "I gotta ask though, I know you have contacts and hang around a shadier circle. Have you heard anything about the ghost that might be of help to us?"_

" _Nope," Urahara lied without hesitation. "Still, even if I had," the man smiled smugly, "we're on different teams these days,Yoruichi. Why would I want to lend the police any of my help?"_

 _For a moment, her mouth grappled pitifully for words. "We were never on different teams, Kisku. At least, I never saw it that way."_

 _At the woman looking somewhat hurt by the man's accusations, he diged the nail in deeper. Apart of him knew it was unfair and on sided, but he had to keep his distance from any cop. "You seemed to have chose a side after I was arrested."_

" _I had no control over that," the woman affronted, losing her head slightly. "I even tried to be a character a witness at your trial, but the defense attorney wouldn't let me. They said some bull shit about how being not only a woman but your girlfriend would only paint us both in a bad light." Shaking her head in a baffled state, she uttered, "I can't believe a man as smart as you thinks I would just hang you out to dry after like that. Especially since you were the one keeping secrets from me. I never chose to hide anything from you."_

 _The truth of her words stirred at some residual guilt that sat static within him, yet he pushed it back down. Turning to walk towards the door, Urahara talked as he stood away from the woman. "Yeah, but it was your choice to never once visit me after I was arrested."_

 _The sting of betrayal was lacing the man's words that he didn't even attempt to conceal. At the man's misunderstanding of the facts, Yoruichi went to clarify, obviously offended by the unfair inference. "That's not how things wen-"_

 _Interrupting the incipient tirade, Urahara turned back with a lighthearted smiled. "It's okay, Yoruichi-san, that was a long time ago. Now I just want to live in peace with no interference from the police" Opening the door, he prompted, "If you'll excuse me, I have some, what do you call it? Shady things to attend to."_

 _The woman jolted, a moxie of seething anger and piecing remorse setting her skin ablaze and glueing her to her spot in an attempt to correctly react to these boiling over emotions. "Fine," she gritted, slamming the ceramic mug down on the countertop with enough force to crack the exterior. As she walked pass the man and out the door, she left him with, "but the Urahara Kisuke I knew wouldn't just accept half the truth."_

 **xXx**

After a brief moment of painful contemplation, Yoruichi said definitively, "Sorry, Byakuya, I won't do that."

Judging the woman's answer with a weary one over, Byakuya realized that was something he would only waste time trying to draw from Yoruichi. "I suppose I know why you went to this person before coming to myself," Byakuya assessed. "You didn't want to deal with the conversation that I'm sure we both know is about to take place."

Yoruichi then gave Byakuya a look she'd given him a dozen times over the course of their friendship, a look filled with impatient know - better and the ideals of the, what she considered, superior wisdom she held. A look that proved her to be just as headstrong as the agent himself. "You need to go talk to him," she concurred as if it was just fact.

On Renji's part, he was puzzled, not sure what this unspoken tension was that had broken out between the two's unyielding glares. One thing was for certain, this was something about Byakuya, some part of his life the agent was not privy too.

Crossing his arms in defiance, Byakuya said, "I need not do no such thing. Besides, do you truly believe he'll help me after what transpired between us?"

"Maybe he feels guilty about it after all of these years," she shook her head in disappointment. "Still, it's the closes chance we have to finding out more about these deaths. You can't let go of this track, Byakuya. I know you too well."

Scoffing, he shook his head in resistance. "You know how I feel about using illegal means to solve crime."

Putting a palm flat on the table, the woman leaned in, hand on hip. "This isn't the same. It's one thing to go around murdering and thieving to solve crimes, but we use criminal informants all the time."

"This is a little different," he mocked, giving her a cursory glance.

"No, it really isn't. Besides, this just reeks of a big government cover up." Staring at the man, she continued, "and the only thing that you hate more than using illicit means to solve crimes is an abuse of power." Pausing to let her next words set in deep, she said, "Don't let your pride keep you from solving this case."

Ruminating, Yoruichi saw the flash of annoyance that filled him as he was conflicted with her being right, but not wanting to own up to it. Finally, he stood rather abruptly, only to say, "Fine. I will go see that man today."

Beaming victoriously, Yoruichi nudged the man before leaving the room. "You know I'm _always_ right."

Rolling his eyes towards the table, Byakuya began to gather his things, only to look up at the sound of Renji clearing his throat. "What was all of that about, Byakuya?"

Glaring for a second, he averted his eyes back to the papers in front of him. "If I want you to know such things, I will inform you," he dismissed, missing the melancholy scowl that covered the others face. "Kurosaki Ichigo," he hummed, "I don't remember ever meeting him. Though, I knew his father. His son was his Keibu-ho. I heard of his death, but never about his family expiring beside him. I never imagined it would be the missing piece to this case." Now settled, he looked back up to a rather blanked faced Renji. "He was an impeccable Keibu. The lose of such talent was certainly remorseful."

Renji was trying to understand how Byakuya could go from being open, talking to him as if he was an equal, to once again treating him with such a ridged distance. It hurt to say the least, but the agent tried to shake it off. It wasn't as if he wasn't use to such secrecy on the others part and just because he shared a crumb of his inner pathos, didn't mean he had infiltrated the inner world of Byakuya. Yoruichi and himself had been friends for over two decades and even she had barely managed such.

Before taking his leave, Byakuya looked to Renji once more. "Hold things down in my absence. I'll be gone for a while."

 **xXx**

 **clarit:** **Thank you for your wonderful review as always! Oh no worries, Ichigo will give Byakuya a run for his money. ;) I know a lot of people are Grimmichi fans. I hope I did okay on Grimmjows character, since I've never wrote for him. I'm pretty much loyal to ByaIchi, but I respect others ships. I also get it, because I love the show Buffy the vampier slayer and I love buff with spike.(She's a vampier slayer, he's an evil snarky vampire with a British accent. Match made in heaven, right?) So I totally get shipping rivals. To tell you the truth though, I don't really ship any other ships with the same zealous as I ship ByaIchi. I just love to romanticize their story. I think Ichigo really open Byakuya's eyes and saved him and I like how Kubo goes out of his was to show how much respect Byakuya's gained for Ichigo. Especially in the FB arc when he cut down that one dude and told him he'd cut down any enemy of Kurosaki's(Gawd, I gushed. My silly fan girl heart ate it up) I also loved how Byakuya told Ichigo his last words when everyone thought he was going to die, instead of just passing them down the line to Rukia or anyone else for that matter. It was basically him saying he trust Ichigo more than anyone to take care of his important things. Mostly I just like how they challenge each other to be better. I'm sorry, I quite my fan girling now. I feel as if I can rant to you because your a fellow ByaIchi lover, even if their not your OTP. lol Hmm, we shall see what's to come with Grimmjow. I have a lot of ideas, but most of them don't actually form into a clear picture until I start writing. Perhaps there will be a little Ichigo love on Grimmjow's part. Good vibes, dear. ~ Ashes.**

 **Tee:** **Thank you for going out of your way to review! I know Ichigo is pretty dark, but I hope people can get behind his character. He's a total anti hero, but I love that. lol I also try to let these little moments of goodness shine through, their just eclipsed by his cold parts. Good vibes ~ Ashes.**

 **Mai Kurosaki** **: Ah, I'm so glad you enjoyed Ichigo. I was scared some people wouldn't like such a vast personality change, but I hope people see that he still had some of those aspects. I totally agree with you, that's why I love A.U's. Sometimes people get upset when it's not characterized perfectly to their cannon counterparts, but that's kind of the point of an AU. People with different life experiences will behave differently. You still get to learn a ton about these characters in Ichigo's group, so I'm glad you're enjoying what I have already. I wanted to make good plot but without things seeming to convoluted or giving to much information, so you gradually learn about these characters little by little. Kind of how you leaned a little bit about Urahara's back story in this chapter. The Fujimoto part is one of my favorite scenes in the last chapter. I really wanted to use that whole chapter to build up Ichigo's character development while still pushing the plot slightly. I've always found that interesting too! The movie Pulp Fiction by Tarantino is actually a lot about that, how bad people are still people too and do normal people things. Like, theres this one scene where these two men are on their was to do a hit, and their just talking about what Big Macs are called in France. lol Seriously, just on their way to murder someone and talking about completely inconsequential stuff like any normal person would do. Now I'm rambling. lol Thanks for the review, darling. Good vibes ~ Ashes.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Oh god guys, this is a long chapter. This story gets really intense and I'm so hyped. lol. You get a lot of plot progression and character development in this chapter, so hang on tight to your computers, loves. It's going to be a bumpy ride. I took a very different view on Byakuya's back story. His family in this story is not the family he had in cannon, that's why I never give names to his father or grandfather. Where as I believed sojun to be a good guy, Byakuya's father in this isn't so good(or maybe he is, that's up to you to figure out for your self mwahaha.)**

 **I love writing about Byakuya's character. He's so much more than meets the eye. While he can be arrogant, rightfully so, he can also be humbled and realize when those are stronger than him, and he can also realize his faults. (that's super admirable to me) While he often comes off as cold, he's been shown to be rather empathetic and carrying. His words are often vague but hide so much more underneath them. He's extremely introverted and thoughtful. (I always thought thats why senbonzakura is really talkative, because Byakuya has many more thoughts than he actually says aloud.) I also love how in control of his own emotions he is, even though it can sometimes be a bad thing. Basically, he's a total babe and I'm loving writing about him.**

 **I also came to the realization the other day about why I think Byakuya is always shown closing his eyes.(While watching the 4th bleach movie for the first time.) We all know Byakuya had a temper as a child and that he's mega good at holding in his emotions. So I honestly think he still has that temper and he shuts his eyes when he's irritated and trying to reign himself in. He's like, 'Lord, please give me the strength and patients to not go bankai on these imbecilic mofo's.' lol (Albeit, much more eloquently said. )**

 **Please review, I wan't your opinions like I want a doubled stuff burrito in my belly(Which is a lot.)**

 **Terms to know: (I know theres a lot, i'm sorry! I just want things to be as authentic as possible. There all in order and also pretty simple if you just want to read them and hope they stick so you don't have to keep scrolling back up here.)**

 **Ottoman: father**

 **Sakura no shōnen: Sakura boy**

 **Ojjisan: Grandfather**

 **Arigato Gozaimasu: Thank You(formal)**

 **Jakeisha: honorific for a prisoner.**

 **Bullet: Yakuza slang word for someone who takes the whole fall for a crime and covers for others.**

 **Not knowing is Buddha: Japanese proverb that means 'ignorance is bliss'. Its actually quite ironic because buddha achieved ultimate bliss(nothingness) through knowing everything.**

 **Junsa-cho/Junsa bucho: Cho is an upper level police officer, bucho is a field leader police officers.**

 **Wake: Is a town in japan**

 **RIKEN: Is a company that funds and runs most scientific research facilities in Japan.**

 **Seiza: Kneeling position in Judo**

 **Joskei: Where the instructor stands in Judo/ considered the 2nd most important place.**

 **Reishiki: Judo etiquette**

 **Melon pan: Japanese melon bread**

 **Gi: Martial arts jacket**

 **xXx**

" **The killer in me is the killer in you"**

 **\- Smashing Pumpkins**

 **Not my father's son**

 _Something stirred a young Byakuya from his sleep. Perhaps it was the wind howling causing the limbs of a sakura tree to scratch against his bedroom window. Maybe it was the ancient pipes that caused ambiguous creaking to seep through equally as dated walls or the squeaking of maple oak flooring that somehow managed to reverberate without any pressure._

 _Sometimes the young boy thought their house was a living entity that had much to say. Within the foundation lied years of experience gained wisdom that the walls wanted to embark upon its dwellers. As if the house didn't just belong to them, but they belonged to the house, and when they stepped into the doorway, the eerie sounds were just the houses way of greeting them, like a mother hugging it's children._

 _Other times, it felt as if the home was a hollow shell, bitter and laced with latent resentment. Almost as if the walls could open up and consume you if you were not careful, draining the life out its people to sustain it's existence. Since his mother had grown terminally ill, he'd been having that thought more and more._

 _The young boy rose from his bed and let his bare feet hit the cool flooring as his eyes adjusted to the dim room that danced with adumbral shapes. A crescent moon was the only source of light as the boy rubbed his sleep riddled eyes with his balled up fist._

 _The sumptuous estate was inherited from Byakuya's grandfather after his death and gave the appearance of wealth. His grandfather was an ex cop turned politician who gambled away his savings illegally before his departure from this world. So the house was the only thing left and was not an accurate representation of the Kuchiki's financial situation. Though they were well off, like most things about their family, the house was just a spurious illusion, making them appear much richer than they were._

 _Despite his grandfathers criminal activity, the Kuchiki's held great status. For the lineage is one of high ranking officers and politicians. At least his grandfather's habit didn't cost them their reputation, for that secret was buried with him, and only his off springs carried its knowledge. Even at the puerile age of twelve, the irony of his grandfather's transgressions was not lost to him. Yet like his father and all other father's before him, he knew he wanted to continue the legacy. Only he wanted to do it better than any of his predecessors._

 _His father was the captain of the homicide division and usually worked late hours. So much so that the house became more like his only family. For the walls spoke more than his own father did. Byakuya never held it against him though. He was proud of his father and revered the things he had accomplished and the pride of which he carried the Kuchiki name. To the child, he was an inspiration, and he only hoped that he could one day fit In those shoes._

 _Still, he missed his mother's gentleness, her lovely curiosity for learning, the wise words she would say and the scent of sandalwood that would roll off of her ivory skin. He missed seeing her without the nuisance of wires and beeping machines. Those little lines that signaled her life on a black screen, they were everything and they was nothing. It didn't accurately represent her buoyancy or tell you about her favorite authors. The melodic hum of the machine didn't let you hear the sounds of her sweet piano playing that once filled the rafters of their home or the way her nails would always be covered with a layer of dirt from hours in the garden. Yet, at the same time, it was the only hint that such a women still existed. Byakuya would much rather hear the listless half baked song of a heart monitor than the deafening finality of its silence._

 _Walking through the hallways of their home, Byakuya wondered if his father was there. It had been a while since he'd seen him, and he was starting to miss the man. He thought, perhaps they could do some sparring or late night training. As he ambled around downstairs, only barely dodging the darkness veiled furniture, he heard muffled noises come from the basement. Seeing as it could only be his father, he walked down the staircase one wobbly step at a time._

 _His footsteps halted when he heard a voice that sounded not like his father. "We're going to take this off, and you're going to tell us what we want to know."_

" _But if you try to scream, trust I'll give you something worth screaming about," came another voice._

" _Otoosan?" Byakuya whispered to himself, distinguishing the second voice as his father's. He inched closer to the railing, making silent steps until he was peeking past the cement wall. What he saw made him almost wished he hadn't, made him wish he was still in the comfort of his bed, or better yet, that he was snuggled up beside his mother._

 _Obscured by the shadowy veil of the stairwell, Byakuya glared upon the dreary cobwebbed room only utilized for housing bottles of expensive sake and apparently for whatever his father was doing._

 _Only one lamp in the corner lit up the bloody mess of a man tied to a chair in the middle of the room. His head was hung lazily as his nose spewed like a geyser. When the man looked up, he had matching shiners, both eyes the darkest of blue and swollen to the point the man probably couldn't see much of anything. Yet that was proven to be wrong when the man looked up to Byakuya's father and somehow managed a grin that only men who walked the path of pernicious knavery could have in the wake of such violent intent. As if this was all humorous to the man, and he found his home in the morbidity of such a mind set. It was twisted, and the whole scene was like a knife to the gut for a young boy._

 _The man, the one tied to the chair, looked up to his father and spat a mixture of blood, spit, and teeth at him, earning him a punch in the jaw._

 _Byakuya's feet wanted to run, to look away and go hide under his covers, but fear seemed to have paralyzed him. Perhaps it was the part of him that already so wanted to be an investigator that wouldn't let him leave without knowing what was going on. He didn't understand why his father was doing this. This was wrong, and his body was telling him so. At the punch, his heart began thumping at such an abnormal velocity, that he was sure it could be heard by the others. If that couldn't be, he let out an involuntary gasp much louder than he would of wished for._

 _His father turned to see him all but cowering with his head hanging over the corner. At first, his eyes squinted, and he donned a look of disapproval. Yet as he walked closer to the young boy who stood shaking only slightly, trying to control his rampant emotions as his father had been teaching him, Byakuya was faced with an even more disturbing sight. His father's crooked smile looking down at him sent shivers up his spine. For his father never smiled, especially not in such a manner. Moreover, it was throttling in it's earnestness, growing bigger with each step. The realest smile he'd ever seen his father make was when he'd finally seen the person his father truly was. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment._

" _Sakura no shōnen, come out for your father. Stand in front of me like the proud Kuchiki you are," the father said, though Byakuya was not quite sure if that man was his father or not. Yet he did so, moving slowly yet at once to look up to his father._

" _Otoosan," the boy asked, "what are you doing? I don't understand?"_

 _Kneeling down in front of his child, the man ran his finger over a wisp of raven hair that breached his son's metallic eyes, looking at the boy affectionately. "You need not know the details, Sakura no shōnen. Just know that your father is doing his job. That's a bad man we need to get important information from."_

" _But," Byakuya began to protest, "this isn't right..this.." He looked at the man oozing blood, feeling his own skin crawl. "This is illegal, otoosan. You're suppose to be protecting people, honoring the law."_

 _The smile on his father's face dimmed slightly as the older man seemed to be momentarily lost in thought. Standing, he grabbed his son's hand and dragged him along to stand in front of the bleeding man and beside the other man whom Byakuya did not know. Though he supposed it was one of his father's associates or another officer. The closer they drew the more fear he felt. Though Byakuya tried very hard not to be scared. He wanted so badly to not be afraid, but he was, to the point his whole body was shaking, and it took all of him to not shut his eyes to the sight of the broken man all but two feet in front of his tiny frame._

 _At his back he felt his father. Strong hand were curled around his trembling shoulders to keep the boy in place. He could smell his father's aftershave and the strong scent of iron. He closed his eyes once while wiping his sweaty palms against the fabric of his garment, then he looked back up to the floaty puffy eyes._

 _His father bent down, bringing his face right next to the boy. Against his cheek, the man's breath smelt like tobacco and felt like terror. "This is a very important lesson you must learn, Byakuya. A hero is also a monster, just less of one then the men they destroy. They do the things weaker men are not able to for the sake of everyone. No hero dies without blood on his hands." Lifting one hand out for his son to see, he displayed his cut up knuckles in front of his child as if they were his greatest possession, reveling at them with a glisten in his coal orbs. "If you want to continue the legacy your grandfather and I have, you'll look this man in the eye." The young boy was dipping his head slightly, keeping his direct line of vision away from the bloody man. "For one day, you'll be looking from where I stand."_

" _But you said Ojiisan was a disgrace to our name. You always told me-"_

" _I know, boy, but your Ojiisan committed petty crime. This is not petty, trust that. Even so, his crime did not negate everything he had worked towards. It did not negate the man he was."_

 _When he heard his son whisper something indescribable, he asked him to speak up. Fist tightened and arms straight, Byakuya yanked away from his father's grasp and turned to meet eyes that looked a little too much like his "I said, I don't want to be like you or Ojiisan. This is wrong." The little boy shook his head frantically, tears running down his cheeks, "This contradicts what you've taught me, and this isn't right. This is a disgrace to our name, otoosan. This is not law nor justice this is- this is," He looked back to the nameless man in the chair whom was wheezing only slightly in pain. "This isn't protecting people, this is hurting them."_

 _The other man, the one who'd been quite the whole time, he chuckled mockingly, and Byakuya all but growled at him. The older reflection of himself stared down with a soft smile, gently running his bloodied thumb across his cheek. "You are your mother's son, sakura no shōnen. Always you've been such an empathetic and caring child at your core. Yet you're also your father's son, too intelligent to believe something just because your own father says it so and too vigilant in your principles to be easily swayed." Pausing only momentarily, his father's tone darkened a hair and the ambiance became electric. "One day you will see what I see. One day you will stand where I stand. Today is not that day." Removing his hand from the boy cheek, he commanded, "Go to bed, son. You're not ready to see the things that your father sees."_

 **xXx**

Sitting in Fuchu prisons's sizable waiting room amongst a turned off television set and old magazines, Byakuya waited in solitude. For prisoners of Japan, reform was of top priority. Isolation was one of the most widely used if not effective tools for such rehabilitation. This was not only the way of living inside the detention center, with everything down to their talking time limited to scarce amounts, but also for communication purposes.

Only one letter could be sent a month, and only one visit that lasted no longer than thirty minutes would be allowed per prisoner monthly. The day of those visits were designated to the last day of the month, and only approved family members were permitted as visitors. It was a very lonely life.

The agent was more than certain that he was not on the list of approved family members for this man, not that it mattered to him one way or another. He had cut his ties with this man the day he found out of his true transgressions. The day his real nature had finally became blindingly limpid. Though Byakuya fervently believed that such a day came too late for him.

None the less, as an NPA agent working under the guise of a national crisis, he was allowed to visit with the man despite this not being the designated visiting time or being on the list of approved visitors, if even such a list existed for the wicked man. No. He was here as an officer of the law, not as a son.

For years, Byakuya struggled internally with that evening in the basement. For years, he never forgot that blooded faced man, no matter how muddied the memory had became. After that night, things proceeded normally in the life of the Kuchiki boy. He continued with schooling and training, and if anything, the vigor and intensity of his desire to work in law enforcement was only fed by that scene.

For so long, he had no clue exactly what happened that night. Afterwards, he had little understanding of his father's true motives or exactly who the man was. The man who raised and taught him, the man who embarked the importance of integrity and justice, that was not the man in the basement. Though, he still held a reverence for who he believed his father to be, or at least part of his father, but he never forgot about the man in the basement. Byakuya finished his schooling for criminal justice and even worked under his father, marveling at the man's captaining abilities and the artistry of which he solved crime. His father was the best, and Byakuya was fast approaching in his footsteps. Yet while he walked beside those larger imprints of his father, learned from them, he also had other motives. He watched his father vigilantly, scrupulously kept him under his scope so if or when the man in the basement finally resurfaced, Byakuya would be prepared. He analyzed and bided him time, never once wavering in his patience, nor the doubt he had in his father's essentiality. After that night, at only twelve years of age, Byakuya never trusted his father again. Yet he stayed close for exactly that reason. If his father was truly a monster masquerading as a hero, Byakuya would shred that mask asunder.

In many ways, he owed his father and the all enduring memory of that gruesome night his dexterity as an officer of the law. Not only had the man inadvertently given him a new sense of purpose and an even more imposing motive for pursuing a life of criminal justice, he'd given him his first case. Yes. His own father was his first prey, and years of impassively watching, scrutinizing, and atomizing his father's every action made him into the prodigious huntsman he was today.

Eventually, he got his prey.

Bringing him out of his thoughts was a short and leann prison guard donned in crisp regalia, a white dress shirt and tie along with a blue hat and jacket adorned with stripes. He pushed open a steel door and bowed respectfully. "Agent Kuchiki-san, he is ready for you."

Byakuya simply nodded and stood, walking behind the man and back through the doors of which he came. He was lead to a hallway lined with glass partitions in which guards would usually be positioned behind. However, today there were none. The pair walked to a room marked with the number three, and the guard took no time in opening the door for the man. "Take your time, please," he said politely, holding out a leading hand for the agent.

"Arigato Gozaimasu," Byakuya thanked, taking only the slightest composing of sighs before he stepped inside.

The room was much like a tiny cubicle with another glass partition expanding across the length of the space and reaching about waist high. Usually there would be guards regulating the content of their conversation, however not today.

It didn't truly hit him that this was the first time he'd see his father in ten years until he sat down and gazed at the aged eyes that looked hauntingly like his own. Yet, being a man of prevailing collectiveness, he took little time in regaining himself.

The man that he looked at through glass had aged fairly well. He had sparse wrinkles sagging at the corners of his led eyes and slightly cracked lips that curled into a mock of a smile. Though his skin seemed more radiant than a man who spent ten years in prison - probably because of the obligatory marching prisoners undertook - should have. His almost black brown hair was pulled back in a low ponytail with a brush of gray disrupting the luster, strands fraying out around the edges of his hair line. Byakuya had his mother's ebony hair, greek nose, and defined cheek structure, and for all he looked like his father, he found himself exalted for the differences.

"Hello, Kuchiki- jukeisha." Professionally, Byakuya addressed the man, who still only looked ahead with an almost blank smile.

After a daunting few seconds passed and allowed the tension to really settle into their skins, the elder chuckled slightly. "Jukeisha? I suppose I should expect no less from you. Right?"

"I'm here on official police business, not for a social call," Byakuya rebutted, face betraying nothing.

"Of course," the older Kuchiki said, smiling slightly bigger. "Why would you come to visit me when you're the one who put me in here?"

"Funny," Byakuya poised unfazed, "and I thought it was your precarious actions that put you in the position you are in today."

"Yet you benefited off of them, nei? You took my position, after all." Derisively, the man said, "How convenient."

"That was never the goal, nor the expected outcome. Not that I feel the need to explain to one as your self."

The elder leaned in on his elbows, glaring at the man with more amusement than Byakuya's patience was allotting. He did not like the smugness of this man, or that he had not been humbled in the slightest even after all this time. "I see you still live life within the confines of that black and white box of yours." Whispering, his voice almost whimsical with self righteousness, the man asked, "How is it in there? Comfortable? Or are the walls starting to cave in on you?"

Shifting in his seat in a slight show of discomfort, Byakuya only sighed a barely audible sigh. As he went to speak once more, his father said, "You still don't see it after all this time. You still don't see anything but bad in my crimes." Leaning back in his chair with arms crossed, he said, "I thought, even just a little bit, you would have realized how I did this for our family."

Calmy, yet all too controlled, Byakuya said, "Don't place the weight of your sins on your family. We are not your scapegoat."

"It was my crimes that kept your mother alive, Agent Kuchiki-san," he remarked, eleven words being all it took to turn the room stifling with raw animosity. There were no need for passive aggressive pleasantries usually associated with the Japanese culture anymore.

You see, working under his father in the homicide division, Byakuya had started to suspect that he was playing ball with members of the Inagawa Kai. It was his adamant belief that his father was being fed criminals that the head wanted to dispose of. They scratched each others backs, so to speak. The head of the house got rid of pesky members or competition without dirtying his own hands, and his father was able to rise to glory, quickly becoming known for his outstanding record. What a beautiful lie it was, but that was all it was, a huge shame, a mark on the Kuchiki legacy. Everything his father worked for had been handed over to him, a gift for his compliance and loyal partnership to the crime boss. According to the elder Kuchiki, it had been the desperation of keeping his wife alive and paying off his father debts that lead to such an abuse of his power, but Byakuya was less than sympathetic.

Twas the night his mother died in a suspicious manner that Byakuya pledged to uncover his father's atrocities. Though he could never prove it, Byakuya, without a shadow of a doubt, knew his mother was killed by Yakuza members who found out about his father's allegiance with the Inagawa Kai and his supposed reasons for doing so. The perpetrates probably concluded that killing off his reason for the allegiance would end the elder Kuchiki's tirade, and also, taking the life of an unconscious and vulnerable woman was much easier and so fitted to the cowardice of these mobsters.

Byakuya had been torn between wishing it had been his father and being genuinely relieved that his mother was put out of her prolonged misery.

Once he'd revealed his father for his nefarious intent, they'd been so blinded by his ability to put law over the ties of his family, that the officers extolled Byakuya as a hero. Negating the usually stigma that was gained once it was found that you're from a bloodline of criminals, Byakuya was promptly offered his father's position. If they had of known about his grandfather, things may not have turned out so well for Byakuya.

"You do not get to speak of her so lightly," Byakuya spat, his guttural voice slicing the air around them.

"In fact," his father, legs crossed and chin pointed, full of an arrogant tranquility, said, "If I hadn't been being feed unruly gang members from the house head of the Inagawa-Kai, I wouldn't have became the Keibu of the division so quickly. I wouldn't have payed off your Ojji-sans debts. All of your advanced schooling and training, your mother's hospital bills, how do you think I achieved these things? The way I see it," he paused, borrowing into eyes that looked like his own, "you would have been motherless before your thirteenth birthday If not for my _crimes_."

"And at what price did you obtain all of this?" Byakuya asked, finding it within himself to control his voice, yet understanding that the man was most definitely getting under his skin. "You coordinated with known crime bosses all to boost your own career. It was power you were after, not protection. Furthermore, you say my mother lived, but what kind of life was that? You kept her alive by unconventional means, letting her sit there comatose, hooked to machines, never able to truly enjoy life, all because you needed to excuse your actions." Losing it only a little, ten years of unspoken words started spewing from the man. No one could push his buttons like his father did, and a part of him understood that this was inevitable. It had simply been boiling over for too long. Byakuya was like a volcano that had sat dormant for years and needed some source of relief. "You took the dignity of death from her, and for that, you can burn in hell."

Byakuya cleared his throat and preened his blazer, regaining a more amicable tone. "It was foolish of me to come here. I should have known you would never help me."

"Byakuya," the elder said, grasping the man's attention before he stood to leave. "Do you know why your mother and I always called you sakura no shōnen?"

The question spoken in a considerably lighter tone took Byakuya by surprise, but he answered without falter. "I was always told it was because I was born under the sakura tree at our old family home."

His father nodded, looking off rather wistfully. "Yes, that, but also, we wanted you to carry the ideals that the sakura blossom represents. Sakura's, they blossom intensely and then die suddenly. They represent the hopeful liveliness of new life and the humbleness of accepting the human condition." He paused, looking off as if he was thinking of his next words. "You are very much like your mother, hopeful and humble. Yet there are times that you are arrogant. You assume that people are just inherently bad or good, that there is no middle ground. Just as you are neither arrogant or humbled all the time, life is full of contradictions."

Again, Byakuya didn't respond right way. It seemed as if the statement deserved more than a knee jerk reaction. Yet, his father spoke before he had much time to consider. "I suppose I can't fault you too much for putting me in here. It is the part of me that's inside of you that made you capable of such a thing."

"I'm nothing like you," Byakuya denounced without hesitation. His father actually chuckled heartily at that. Byakuya just clenched his jaw, reminding himself that rising to his father's mocking was what he wanted, and he refused to give the man the satisfaction.

"Son, you hunted your own father, investigated him tenaciously from a young age. As much as you can be empathetic, you can also be completely calculating and cold. Don't underestimate my blood that runs through you." Giving a flippant throw of the wrist, the man said, "None the less, I can't fault you in your actions alone, when in ways, I find them admirable."

"Is this your manner of apologizing? If so, I would consider polishing the skill."

With an austere glare and a voice of sincerity, the elder said, "I won't apologize because I'm not sorry...However, I will help you with whatever you want to know."

For a few seconds, Byakuya glared back at him intently, as if trying to gauge his motives. "Why?"

His father grinned, one as twisted and self satisfied as the one he wore in the basement all those years ago. "Simple. I know one day you'll look in the mirror and It'll be me you see staring back at you. Trust that I'll revel in that day. Even if you never give me the satisfaction of knowing, I know it _will_ happen. One day, you'll see the things I see." Intertwining his fingers and perching his chin impishly on his hands, the man said, "I think this case might be a catalysis."

To that Byakuya had no rebuttal, because he wasn't completely wrong. If ever there was a case that pushed him to his limits, this would be the one. "I do see what you see, I just choose to react to it in a different way." He took a composing sigh, closing his eyes briefly. "So you know what case I'm here for?"

"I am a criminal, but they do still allow us to read the newspaper." The elder hummed thoughtfully. "What I'm unaware of is what I can do to help."

For Byakuya, he knew this would be the hardest part, the part that crushed his pride. The moment he asked, he already knew his father would take no time in expressing his victory, even if it was just with his face. The man was never reserved, that was a trait Byakuya picked up from his late mother. Yes, he could control his emotions well, but only when he wanted to. His father also never taught him an ounce of humility or about graceful victories. So for this favor, Byakuya knew he'd be paying with his pride. Over and over, he reminded himself what was at stake and that completing this mission was where his true paid lay. Clearing his throat and settling his mind, Byakuya said, "I know you were the bullet for elite members of the government and the Yakuza. Meaning those men owe you favors in some regards." With a flare of the nostrils, Byakuya forced the words out in a manner that was more eloquent than he thought he'd be able to manage. "I need you to pull classified files on Kurosaki Isshin's death. We believe that his death is directly related to The Ghost, and it's an imperative part of solving this case."

Tapping his fingers repetitively over his curled lips, the elder took no time in proving Byakuya right. "Hmm," he chuckled, "so it begins, and you said you're nothing like your father."

Flatly, Byakuya deadpanned, "I certainly inherited your humility."

"And my sharp tongue," the elder smirked. "Alright. I'll help you."

"Really?" Byakuya questioned, taken by the man being so easily convinced. "And will you be able to contact your connections within here or will you need my assistance?"

Putting up his hand, the man said, "No. All you'll need to do is be looking out for a file of some sort..Though," he paused, "I do think you may be on the wrong team, son."

Raising an eyebrow, Byakuya told the man silently to explain himself. Intertwining his fingers, the elder placed his hands on the table in front of him and looked intently at his son, lowering his voice despite their apparent solitude. "At least three prime ministers have been knowingly connected to the Yakuza, two arrested for it. The Yakuza has infiltrated most big business, have ties with most policing and politics. Even the Americans have started to cut ties with Japan after realizing the Yakuza was embedded in every industry they could make money from within the states, and trust me when I say," the man leaned in, now speaking only above a whisper, "It's much worse than what is visible to you or most." Putting up both of his hands until they were hovering beside the glass, he wiggled his digits, "Their fingers are in everything."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Byakuya asked, "And your point is?"

"My point is, you can not beat the Yakuza by being law abiding, because the government, the justice that you put so much trust into, their just masquerading as these lawful citizens when in reality, they have their own agenda. That law passed in 2012 to reign in the Yakuza, a law put in place by a prime minister who had supposed connection to the syndicate, was all just a smokescreen to regain trust. You're fighting a losing battle."

"I understand how tolerant our government is of the Yakuza. For that reason, I neither play for their team nor the syndicate. I choose to pave my own path where law and integrity stand for front."

The elder shook his head in a more frantic disapproval, looking at his son with a certain sense of urgency. "You're wrong. Perhaps you chose your own path, but at the end of the day, you're an officer of the law, and you are expected to fall in line with the unspoken standards of the government." Tilting his head slightly, he asked condescendingly, "What happens to team members who don't play well with the others?" At his son's marginally gapped features, the man's mouth twisted. "Their dispossessed of. If you keep opposing them, it's only a matter of time before they push you out of the way." Pushing his face forward so it was mere millimeters away from the glass, the man rasped, "There has not been one prime minster without his own ties connecting him to the Yakuza, so you can forget any lofty dreams of taking such a position. They're too big to beat legally because the Yakuza and the law are one in the same, working off of each other in perfect symbiosis." Leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, he said as if it was simply an afterthought, "Kurosaki Isshin-san knew that."

Widening at that, Byakuya had to keep himself from jumping up in his seat. "You know about Kurosaki's death?"

Shrugging his shoulders in an aloof smugness, the man pondered, "I've heard rumors here and there, but let's wait for the file for the real truth, shall we? I know such information must be hard to swallow, as they say, not knowing is buddha."

Laying a palm flat against the wooden surface, Byakuya spoke with enough confidence that he almost believed himself. "The Ghost, the Yakuza, our government, I will be the one to ratify the corruption, and I will do so without breaking the law or walking a path of darkness."

Laughing boisterously, the man leaned deeper into his seat, expecting his son from pointed chin to puffed chest. "And where do you get such arrogance from?"

Almost smirking from the pure comical bitterness of the conversation, Byakuya rebutted caustically, "Why don't you ask buddha?"

Humorously shaking his head, the elder said, "You'll do what you like, I know this. What _you_ may not know, son, is that I do actually care for your well being. Something is coming with the Yakuza and the government, and it's bigger than you can wrap your head around right now. It may do you some good to start reevaluating your enemies and the people you can trust. Putting The Ghost away may be the same as signing your death warrant, my boy."

Byakuya ruminate on this for a long epoch, contemplating what his father was saying and what lied in between the words not said. Perhaps himself and the ghost had some similar goals and even a similar sense of duty. None the less, Byakuya could never find it within himself to agree with this audacious vigilante. If there was no higher standard, if no one walked the arduous trail of law and order, than who would uphold the example of civility and humanity? Killing to show others killing is wrong, committing crime to show others crime was wrong, it all muddled into one gargantuan logical fallacy. Someone had to rise above and lift the bar. Even if it cost him everything, Byakuya was tenaciously bent on doing things his own way.

"Perhaps you're right, but at least I'll die with my pride and virtue in tact," Byakuya concluded, going to make his departure when his father said one last thing.

"Son," he whispered, "when the time comes, and it will, remember to follow the money."

Netting his eyebrow in confusion, Byakuya couldn't possibly understand what his father was speaking of, but one look in the grey orbs that mimicked his so heavily was enough to tell the agent he'd get no more information from the man. With a nod, Byakuya said, "I must be taking my leave now."

 **xXx**

Byakuya considered himself a patient man, but simply twiddling his thumbs and waiting for a mysterious package to reveal itself had become taxing. Every out of place noise or abrupt movement had the agent acting much more finicky than usual. The waiting game was not one Byakuya Kuchiki played well, despite his diligence. It had only been made more frustrating by the fact Byakuya had been running a fever since that day, and had to stay home with his thoughts.

Over the course of two days, they worked around the clock on interrogating the other twenty something possible suspects. Though Byakuya knew in his gut that these interviews would be virtually fruitless, he still covered his bases. More irritating was the few suspects who lived outside of Tokyo and had to be brought in. Just based on geography alone, these few ex officers were eliminated, yet he couldn't be skipping any corners. Every last nook and cranny of this case had to be pristinely dealt with.

The words of his father crept into his mind unsolicited more times than he'd like to admit. Yet he pushed that thought away whenever it popped up. It do him no good concerning himself of things he had no knowledge or control of or to take the advice of a known criminal to seriously.

After two days of strenuous waiting, finally, he received what he'd been so desperately waiting for. Upon waking up on a rather dreary Thursday morning, Byakuya worked out, bath, dressed, and ate his breakfast as if it was all just an ordinary day. Yet, when he went to grab his keys from a small bowl perched on an end table, Byakuya saw it, a rather unordinary object. A thick and long envelope was sitting beneath the bowl, the sight of it sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through Byakuya, prompting him to calm himself at the sight. In all of his urgency, he took no concern with the fact someone had broken into his flat. A sure sign that the confines of the envelope could hold all the answers he'd been looking for. For his own body was rapid firing in an animalistic pursuit, his visceral mastery of the hunt telling him he was close. Just within reaching distance, he could almost taste the ghost.

Collecting himself, he began to fiddle with the stymie silver prong that could possibly be the only barrier between himself and all the proof he needed to proceeded with his theory that Kurosaki Ichigo was in fact the ghost. Yet, before he opened the envelope, he thought against it. Waiting till he got to the station would be better. There was no telling what was in this envelope and the trip might prove laborious depending on the information. Also, he'd like Yoruichi and Renji to be present so this wouldn't be information he'd have to relay.

Deciding that this was best, he placed the folder into his satchel and made his way to the homicide division.

Entering through the double doors, already on his third cigaret from the pure anticipation of it all chafing his nerves, he saw Renji who took no time in walking towards him. As he approached, he turned on his heels to walk back in the direction he came from, now only pacing along with the other agent. "Report, Renji-san."

The other nodded, lifting his own pack of cigarettes out his back pocket and beating the top against his palm. "We've been doing these interrogations around the clock, and we've already had three guys admit to being The Ghost," the man explained, his tone dripping in annoyance. "I've never seen so many men cry for their mothers before. I don't know if it's sad or just pathetic."

Fighting back the urge to roll his eyes, Byakuya exhaled a long drag of his cigaret. "Of course, they did. This is why I do not enjoy interrogating those whom I know are not guilty. Three days of straight interrogation and you'll be admitting to anything just to get a break. "

"Or anything to eat that isn't a boiled egg," Renji snorted, giving the other an aslant glare. "The three admissions of guilt were obviously caused by mental stress. I let the first batch of suspects go. I kept them as long as I could." Sighing and raking a hand through his hair, Renji said, "I know NPA orders are to do this by the book, but I really hated wasting our time and putting those poor guys in that kind of situation."

"With the next batch, I'll trust your discretion when it comes to letting up on the interrogation. What's the situation with Junsa-chōHisagi-san and Junsa-buchō Muguruma-san? Has their investigation yielded anything?"

Renji nodded, picking at the pesky cellophane on his cigaret pack as he explained. "They spoke to the head researcher at Okinotorishima island. They were pretty adamant that they had no involvement or knew nothing about illegal fishermen. However, they said they were contracted for an odd request. They were payed a large sum of money to airlift a sample of that rare algae to a ran down research botany facility in Wako. It's owned by RIKEN. They were expected to provide the helicopter to airlift the sample. Apparently they all took the situation as rather sketchy, but nothing about it was illegal, so they were inclined. Of course, the large amount of money probably had something to do with it." Pausing only to light his cigaret, Renji concluded, "We've tried tracing the calls and the wired money, but it's all untraceable."

Now standing outside of the interrogation room of which Byakuya had been utilizing, he halted and turned to Renji. "And what are they doing now?"

"Oh you don't have to worry about those two," the agent smirked. "Their hell bent on finding out everything about the botany facility in hopes of a lead." That smirk dwindled slightly, filling with concern. "I'm just worried that the facility has no connection to the group. What if they just chose it because it happens to be secluded and abandoned?"

Validating his concerns with a node, the other agent said, "That may very well be a possibility. Though, I feel as if to know about this facility and its isolation, the person who chose it must've had some connection to it in the past, rather that connection be weak or strong." Feeling almost dizzy with befuddlement, the agent continued, "Though, it could be a strategy to disorganize us. Perhaps they are dropping crumbs in the wrong direction knowing we'll follow. However, that also means that there's a good chance someone in this group is connected to the facility somehow. A good hook will keep you drawn out for a long time. It's a possibility that their using a place of familiarity because there are enough clues to keep us hunting, but not enough to find any real evidence."

Pinching the bridge of his nose and scowling, Renji groaned, "All these mind games make me feel as if my brain is constantly trying to solve a rubik's cube."

The other agent smirked only slightly at that. "Well hopefully this isn't as hopeless as your ability to solve brain teasers." Opening the door, Renji followed in behind him. "Where is Yoruichi-san?"

"Ah, last time I saw her she was giving Keibu Shinji-san a hard time."

"And I thought I was the only one she tortured," Byakuya jested, setting his bag on the table and withdrawing some needed supplies.

"She has to do something while you're away, but if you want, I'll tell her you're feeling a little jealous." At the narrowed eyebrows and cautionary glare, Renji chuckled and poked his thumb over his shoulder towards the door. "Do you want me to go get her?"

"Yes, promptly." Now holding up the large envelope, he said, "I have finally received the details of Kurosaki-Isshin's death."

Gapping in realization, the redhead turned on his heels immediately. "Right. I'll do that now."

Once the man left, Byakuya took no time in opening the folder. For he wanted some sort of prep before Renji and Yoruichi came back, because knowing them, they'd be hassling him for information as soon as they stepped foot in the room.

Fingers twitching and heart beat elevating only marginally with the tingling sensation of the trail, he could wait no longer. Though he tried not to become too enthused in case things didn't pan out, this felt right. Without a doubt, there was a lead in that folder.

With grace and patience, he opened the folder, peeling back the fold from the adhesive of the envelope. Pulling out all the content gingerly as if he was touching rare jewels, he laid the papers on the table in front of him and started going through the stack. On the top was a single sheet of paper with only one typed sentence centered in the middle of the page. It read: _'Some of the worst criminals known to man are not even on the radar of the ruling governments; the_ _same could be said for the best heros.'_

Though the ambiguity of the message intrigued him, there was more to stifle through, actual facts, not just vague riddles. With that, he began to go through the rest of the content.

After the title page of sorts, there was a variety of blown of crime scene photos, each more gruesome than the last. As he shuffled through, he looked at each picture with a spectral familiarity. With each piercing photo assaulting his eyes, with each passing second, his heart began to palpate, his brow perspired, and the air around him became almost painfully humid, as if the ventilation had been cut off and the moistness was latching onto him for dear life.

Knots bursted throughout his stomach and his legs went aquiver. The entirety of his foundation seeming to crumble under the weight of each tiny pixelation. Everything around him grew smaller and smaller, and the room felt as if it was closing in on him. He felt trapped, locked in a coffin of his monstrous flashbacks.

He felt the need to run like a child, his body practically begging him to move those legs which felt like not much more than toothpicks holding up concrete blocks.

It was psychosomatic, but even telling himself that wasn't enough to suppress the cacophony of sensory overload rushing him. No amount of resolution or mental discipline would convince his body to calm. He was rebelling against himself.

This case had hit home for him, but now it was standing in his fucking living room, drinking a cup of sake and making itself comfortable. It kicked down his door with it's macabre irony and punched holes in the walls of his constitution.

It was only made worse by the fact he'd taken to his own advice and started weaning himself from the medicine and took to counseling. Acclimatizing to just that was a rather huge hurdle for the man to do as it was, but now this. It couldn't be, life couldn't be so ruthless.

Hands steadied on the table and vision floaty, Byakuya heard someone speak to him, but static was clogging the air ways. Feeling an overwhelming need to throw up, the agent pushed passed a very concerned Renji and Yoruichi.

At first, the pair thought that he could possible still be sick from whatever bug he had. Walking over to the work table, Renji scrutinized the photos with fretted brows for a moment. Just as with Byakuya, it took a while for the full force of recognition to collided like a roundhouse kick to the face.

Shoving the pictures frantically, he sent them floating to the ground until their horrid depictions were scattered across the floor. "Shit!" the man barked, backing up against the wall with one coiled fist brought to his mouth. As Yoruichi stared at him with perplexed worrisome, he bit down on one of his fisted fingers, as if to bring himself out of the delirium.

Yoruichi squatted down, running the tips of her fingers over the edges of each picture to pick them up. "Renji," she asked, setting the photos on the table, "are these what I think they are?"

Barley being able to node, Renji muttered, "I guess the past really does always come back to bite you in the ass."

With that, Byakuya returned, and though he looked rather blanched and was glistening from a fresh layer of sweat, it seemed his composure had returned ten folds. Not such a surprise for a man of Byakuya's temperament. He moved back to the stack of files and cleared his throat, finding any words hard at that second. It was Yoruichi who took all of the crime scene photos and flipped them over on the other side of the table, knowing no one would benefit from seeing that. No. Those men had vivid images that were permanently branded into them. No picture could compare to the relentlessness of their memories.

"Byakuya.." Renji finally heaved, still leaning against the wall yet finding a way to compose himself if only a little.

Not even looking up, Byakuya commanded, "Not now, Renji." With an apprehensive silence falling in between the three, Byakuya's eyes darted up and sharpened at the other agent. "I said, not now. We deal with this first." When Renji simply nodded, Byakuya glided his hand out and gestured at a chair. "I'd sit if I were you. It do us little good if you were to pass out." At that, Byakuya took a seat himself, not wanting to admit that it was him that felt like his sanity was a mere steak knife balancing on his head.

Sitting across from Byakuya and with Yoruichi at his side, Renji growled, "So is this bad enough to turn a man into a monster?"

Byakuya recalled the memory as if it was set on replay in his head like a cheesy pop song you couldn't stop singing inwardly. The crisp summer air, the smell of iron and chemicals intermingling with the zephyr of the night, the pure chaotic energy that surrounded the warehouse, it was a house of horrors. That night was the thing of nightmares, more than any creature of the darkness could ever hope to be. "Absolutely," Byakuya said, now pulling out an official report.

The raven haired agent spoke efficiently and with an air of professionalism that he'd use with any other case. Yoruichi didn't blame him from trying to disconnect. It was simply the only way to do his job. Yet there was a fragility to his voice that no amount of moderation could encumber. "Kurosaki was lured to the warehouse under false pretenses on the evening of July 6th, there he found his family being held captive. Along with them, five other members of his team and their families had fallen to the same faith. They were dead when he arrived on the scene." Byakuya's eyes stopped scanning the report and he took a heavy sigh. "I'll refrain from reading the individual causes of death."

"Team," Yoruichi poised, "What team?"

Byakuya nodded and flipped the page, once again scanning the content. "He was apart of a terrorist group called the Heretics of Equilibrium."

"That sounds kind of badass," Renji said absent minded.

"Their real?" Yoruichi asked rhetorically. "Kisuke mentioned them to me once, but I didn't think they really existed."

Fretting his brow, Renji said, "Of course the cyber terrorist would know." At an obviously displeased glare from Yoruichi, Renji's look of disapproval mellowed.

"Do you know what a heretic is, Renji-san?" Yoruichi asked, her tone patronizing and her rise of the chin chafed.

The man rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Uh, their people who opposed their church back in the day, right?"

"Right, but they're also anyone who does not conform to their country's laws and norms. Anyone who openly acts against the laws or their government to change political ideology can be considered a terrorist, but I think we're all aware that the laws of our government are not always beneficial to the people. Kisuke saw that, and he worked to make things better. Either you two agree with his actions or not doesn't mean he deserved to be branded as a terrorist. You can label someone and place them in a tiny little box, but that's not quite the whole story, is it?"

Renji simpered like a child who had just been scolded by his parents and Byakuya simply glared harder at the woman. "Tell me what you know about this group, Yoruichi san. There is information in this file, but surely it's through the perception of our active government. I would also like the perception of Urahara-san." Usually Byakuya would not address criminals with such an honorific, but he knew how Yoruichi felt about the man, and to a certain degree, Byakuya felt as if he deserved such respect."

With a more wistful look in her eyes, the woman looked down at her interlocked fingers caressing one another in her lap. "Kisuke kept a lot of things from me, not because he didn't trust me, but because he wanted to protect me. If he told me, it would put me in this awkward place between my fiancé and my job. If he told me, I could have also been arrested for being an accomplice to his crimes." After prefacing, she sighed and looked up with resolution. "So everything he talked about was always in the hypothetical sense." A tickle of a smile brushed her lips. "He wanted to tell me about himself without _actually_ telling me about himself. I always knew of his strong opinions against the government," she noted, getting a little lost in the memory. "We'd debate a lot, finding that a lot of our thoughts were the same...Anyway.. when he would talk about the Heretics, he'd talk about them the way someone talks about a legendary deity: skeptical of their existence, yet equally filled with admiration. It was as if this group was the ideal." Waffling her gaze between Renji and Byakuya, she asked, "Have you heard of the Hacktivist group Anonymous?"

Both men nodded and Byakuya said, "Yes, their quiet well known, but this group, I've never heard even a murmur of them."

"Right," Yoruichi nodded in suite, "and you probably never would have. I bring up Anonymous because they organize themselves in a similar fashion. Though each sector works under the same affiliation, each group works completely independent of each other. Each with their own very individual missions, each with different members. Sometimes different members will come in contact with others for assistance on bigger scaled missions, but usually, it's all separated. It's unknown how many groups that affiliate with the organization actually exists, but it's rumored that there are hundreds spanning across the world." Holding up one finger, she concluded, "The only thing that ties them together is one unyielding ideology."

"And that is?" Byakuya asked, cocking an eyebrow in intrigue.

"To equal out the bad and the good," Yoruichi smirked. "Most members believe that the elite governments of the world are controlling more large scale crime for their benefit, and they only give the appearance of safety and justice. They believe that the people who are meant to protect us aren't doing their jobs too well, and because of that, the bad has ran rampant."

"I can't say I completely disagree," Byakuya noted, thinking back to how many dirty cops and politicians he'd met in his day. "Still, that doesn't answer why I haven't heard of them."

Putting up a pointed finger in excitement. "Ah, we're getting there Bya - boy. We're talking about large scale stuff here. We got a lot of ground to cover." Byakuya just rolled his eyes at the woman and stifled a miffed scoff as she continued. "See, also unlike hacktivist groups, this one only spreads via word of mouth. Their very secretive. They like it like that and the ruling government's like it that way too. One, the group goes way past hacking. Each individual sector is different in their goals, but their goals are always more tangible. They do big hits, severing criminal connections, halting amoral prisoner experiments, exposing corrupt business."

"Yes. This file said Kurosaki's team was working to sever a huge human trafficing deal with the Russians. Not only would hundreds of kidnap victims go free, but ties between the two syndicates would be irreparably damaged."

"Exactly. This group isn't just a bunch of over bloated computer nerds trying to hack into local banks. Their cops, doctors, weapon specialist, lawyers, professional fighters, scientist. Anyone with influence, skills, and tenacious beliefs can make up these groups, so they enact _real_ change. They've been rumored to do way more than any Hacktivist group ever has. That's why the government doesn't want their existence being a widely known thing. Think of the hubbub it would cause if the public knew of such a group and their abilities. More so, the group likes the anonymity too. Working from the shadows allows them to do more. Kisuke even said it was rumored that most governments had no clue of their existence until recently." Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she muttered, "Well I guess he knew it was more than rumored, that jerk, never telling me anything. If I ever see him again, I'm hitting him on his big stupid head."

Renji chuckled, scooting slightly incase Yoruichi found herself looking for an outlet for her anger. "It's not all bad, Yoruichi-san. If he had of told you, you could've been arrested too, and then you wouldn't be here to tell us all of this."

Sarcastically, Yoruichi said, "Hooray."

Now looking back to Ichigo's file sitting idly beside the one of his father, Byakuya picked up the picture and looked thoughtfully into the honey eyes. "So, Kurosaki Ichigo was traumatized by the killing of his father and two sisters, and he decided to pick up where his father left off. This Is what I'm thinking."

"It really does fit perfectly, and he's so conveniently missing now," Yoruichi scoffed.

Humming and tapping a finger on his chin, Renji said, "Maybe not to conveniently." At the confused looks, he clarified, "I mean, I always did think it was weird, the way the higher up NPA agents swooped in and relieved us, almost like they knew it was going to happen. I think they wanted the Yakuza to kill all of those people, if not completely organized it themselves." Byakuya's eyes sharpened as he thought about the idea. It was hard to swallow, but one he himself had considered. "If that's true, and he was there that night, yet somehow managed to get away, of course he's in hiding. Either the government or the Yakuza probably wants him dead for the things he saw."

"Yes." Byakuya agreed, once again staring helplessly into the picture of the rather handsome and vibrant looking man. The man in the picture, though he didn't look particularly gregarious, looked anything but cold and dead. Yet, then again, this picture was taken before _that_ night. "But he must be in Tokyo. That we are sure of."

"That's like finding a needle in a haystack," Yoruichi poised.

"Ah, perhaps Tokyo's a haystack, but this man is anything put a needle," Byakuya bite back a smirk, his analytical brain now humming as it booted, gearing for the inception of this hunt while he looked down at the man whom he was sure was his next game. Oh, and what challenging game it would be. His enticement almost had him forgetting just how to close for comfort he was to this case, to this man. "He has a brain, meaning he has thoughts that can be predicted. If he truly is The Ghost, that means he's actually rather intelligent. That will narrow down his hiding places considerably."

Renji and Yoruichi shared bewildered looks. "I do not understand him when he get's like this," Yoruichi jested.

Leaning in closer to the woman, Renji muttered, "He is a little smug when he goes all super saiyan detective on us."

"Will you two pay attention," Byakuya snapped. "I believe this is marginally more important than your frivolous insults." The two couldn't help a small chuckle as the man continued. "Anyway. If he's intelligent, which he is, than he's probably hiding in plain sight. He's hiding somewhere so obvious no one would even consider looking for him."

Both mulled over the statement, their ideas flashing across their thoughtful glares. Suddenly, Renji mused, "The Kurosaki's home."

Byakuya nodded and tapped the folder. "It states that the Kurosaki's estate, including the clinic and the dojo connected to it, was given to the next of kin, the Shiba family. Apparently Kukaku Shiba owns claim to the whole establishment and resides there."

"A clinic?" Renji asked, "He was a Kibue."

"Yes, but he was military prior to that. A doctor in the military. So I'm assuming he only got into law enforcement because the clinic did not bring in enough money for a single father of three. Not the mention, the dojo he ran was for troubled teens. They gave free lessons to help stir these children away from the path of the Yakuza. Surely that was a large expense in and of itself."

Eye's gapped subtle, Renji expressed, "Wow, I didn't know all that."

"He was a rather good man," Byakuya said, his voice lingering with some unsettled guilt. "Also a good officer, though sort of an oaf at times. Still, perhaps he became an officer for the connections in granted him."

"So," Yoruichi poised, her eyes averting with an obvious trepidation. "I guess you two will be going to the Kurosaki estate now to look for Kurosaki Ichigo-san?"

Byakuya sighed. "Out with it, Yoruichi-san. I know something is bothering you, and one way or another, you'll tell me, so I rather it be now."

"I sort've feel..guilty," she said, looking up with conflict in her eyes. "Like you said, he was a good man. Their only trying to do what's right, stop things that our government turn a blind eye too. I mean, what I'm saying is.." the woman faltered, trying to know what exactly it was she _was_ trying to say. Looking the man straight in the eyes, she swallowed hard. "I don't know if I agree with this," she spoke confidently, though the statement alone showed just how doubtful she was.

If anyone could be sympathetic towards Yoruichi's uncertainty, It was Byakuya. Had she forgotten that he himself had saw the aftermath of what transpired in that damp and bloody warehouse? Just a peek of what had went on in there was enough to send Byakuya's brain into shambles. Ichigo had to sit through such agony, had to watch as his own family and others were creatively and builiously disembodied. The young man possibly had a front row seat to the embodiment of torture. Every one of his sense raped with the twisted crucifixion that occurred in that warehouse. The only hopeful thing the man could grasp onto was the promise of death and the promise that he'd never remember these things, yet even that was ripped away from him. He probably sat there, frantically trying to figure out a way to save his sisters. He probably tried to be strong for them, soothing their worried minds. Byakuya couldn't even fathom how he'd felt if it was Rukia sitting there, but he imagined it would horrible. How horrifying it must've been. How weak and feckless the man must've felt as he sat and was only able to watch. It was enough to make Byakuya's gut churn with all of it's grim possibilities.

Yet, throughout his sympathy, he too had logic. "I do understand your concerns, Yoruichi-san." His voice darkened intently. "Though what you must understand is that his wrong will not make their wrong right. If The Ghost continues to kill in this way, it could lead to an all out gang war. The vulnerability of the Inagawa Kai will not go unnoticed, and other gangs or syndicates will take advantage." Mockingly and full of authority, the agent poised, "And if there is a gang war, then what? The people of Japan will be the ones who suffer. His actions have consequences, and if the information in this file is correct, his father did not kill people in such a manner. It seemed more like a countermeasure than his usual strategy. This..this..child," he faltered, placing a heated finger on the picture of the man as he became filled with more passion than he could recall feeling in years. "His actions are obtuse, dangerous. He's gone too far, killing others to implement his plans. If anything, I'm saving this boy from himself before the Yakuza finds him, or he finds himself with the blood of our countrymen on his hands."

The woman glared relentlessly, almost challenging the man with her torn and hurt golden oculars. Within her, she was wrestling with her morals, determining the right thing to do. She was steamed that the world was such a convoluted tumult that she even had to be put in this position of moral dubiety. "Fine," she finally snapped, crossing her arms in resentment. "I understand, but that doesn't mean it's easy."

Byakuya sighed once more, packing up his stuff. "Trust me, this is no chore for me either." Collecting his things in tense silence, he nodded to Renji. "We're going to the Kurosaki estate now."

The heaviness of the situation seemed to sit on his throat, for all Renji could manage was an agreeable nod. As they left the room, Yoruichi couldn't even bring herself to look at them, cringing and cursing as the door slammed.

An overtly tensed Renji and Byakuya walked hastily pass Ikkaku as they went to leave the precinct. Grabbing a storming off Renji, Ikkaku asked, "What gives, kid?" Glancing back towards Byakuya, he said, "Something seems important."

Looking over his shoulder and biting his lip in the direction of a fast retreating Byakuya, Renji said quickly, "That Kurosaki guy, we finally dug up his file. Byakuya thinks he could be The Ghost."

With that he pulled his arm away and began in his walking. Not one to be rude to his friends, Renji wouldn't usually brush them off, yet the situation called for it. Yet, Ikkaku followed him, still asking him questions. "Wait? So you have proof it was him?" Ikkaku gapped, trying to hide the anxiety in his tone.

Renji shook his head no in rebuttal, allowing Ikkaku to find his breath once more. "Nah, but there were some things in the file that definitely put him at the top of our list. Byakuya thinks he knows where he's hiding out too, s-. Hearing Byakuya call his name in a voice that Renji knew could only deem trouble, Renji patted his friend on the back. "I'll tell you more later, gotta run."

And run he did. Ikkaku watched, rubbing his head in frustrating recognition. He needed to make a call.

 **xXx**

All students were placed in their oppositely ranked corners on the matt, positioned in a seiza fashion. Ichigo stood in the joseki as his highest ranked student called "Sensei ni." To this, the students did a half right turn, followed by Ichigo.

"Rei," the senior student called. Both Ichigo and the students bowed to each other, completing the proper reishiki.

Ichigo watched as his class was dismissed, talking to a few students who dawdled and engaged in friendly conversation. As he watched them leave, he thought about his father and how important the dojo had been to him. It was apart of his legacy, wanting to help these kids and teach them some form of discipline.

It was almost funny to the young man. Surely his father would have a good laugh if he was still here to see his son so clumsily stepping into his shoes. Ichigo really could care less about judo etiquette, manners, or rank. In fact, he practically came in kicking and screaming to these classes. Always dragging his heels, always quipped with some crass comment directed towards his dad and the forced lessons. Yet his father love this. In ways, carrying on the dojo was just as imperative to his father's memory and mission as being the ghost was.

Every other part of his family had died, so he couldn't let this be just one more thing buried by the mellifluous grasp of the Yakuza.

From the office, he heard his phone ringing. Since his phone rarely went off for insignificant reasons, he rushed to answer it. He fretted his brow at the name that popped up before placing the cell phone to his ear.

"Yo, chrome - dom, what giv-?" Ichigo was interrupted by some hectically delivered words. "Alright, alright, calm down. You're calling off the burner phone, right?" Ikkaku whispered something about how he wasn't dumb and Ichigo said, "Pretty dumb for calling me at the station, but anyway, you said you think they may be coming here?" When Ikkaku told him he didn't know and exactly the words Renji said, Ichigo scoffed and then smirked. "If Kuchiki said he knows where I am, than he's definitely coming here. Don't worry, you said they had no proof, and I was prepared for this anyway. Thanks for the heads up, and make sure you delete this from your call history."

Ichigo, with little sense of urgency and worrisome, made his way up to the second floor: the clinic. It was not as if he didn't see the problem in this, but he was a prepared man, and knew this would happen eventually. More so, he saw it as a pothole in his plans. A hit was suppose to be made later that day. In three hours to be exact.

As he made his way through the threshold of the clinic, from the doorway, he saw Uryu checking out one of their more regular clients, a middle aged woman who always brought the doctor baked goods and took regular pleasure in glaring demurely at the much younger man's back side.

"No, Ito-san," the doctor smiled amicably, but pushed up his glasses, a gesture Ichigo knew signaled how annoyed he was. "You won't need another mammogram until next year, but please," he bite back his irritation, "come see me if you need anything else."

Ichigo smirked and stepped out the way as Uryu directed the woman towards the exist. As he walked back over to the check in desk, Ichigo said, "I know this probably won't beat feeling up Ito-san, but I have some pretty big news."

Coming to a dead halt, Uryu glared at him as if trying to telepathically implode his head. After a hard stare down, he lulled to the desk, picking up a bake good and shoving it in his mouth. "She's lucky she makes a delicious melonpan." He swallowed a bite, and from behind the desk, he leaned forward on his elbows. "I actually feel dirty eating these," he remarked before promptly taking another mouthful.

Since Uryu had seemed to forget or just blatantly ignored Ichigo's earlier statement, Ichigo said, "The police are most likely coming here, Ishida."

Now coughing up the desert, taken by the news and the nonchalant way Ichigo was now just leaning against a magazine rack, the doctor heaved in a worry. Once he composed himself, he deadpanned, "Well you seem to be taking this well. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted to get arrested."

Ichigo, who was now flipping through pages lackadaisical, as if he was simply waiting to see the doctor and not two NPA agents, shrugged his shoulder. "It'll be nice to not see your ugly mug for a few days." At the scoff and frustrated vibes exuding from Uryu, Ichigo looked up and shut the magazine. "They don't have proof. Beside, you know we're prepared for my arrest."

"ARREST," Kukaku bellowed, running in from an examination room she had been cleaning. "You're already getting arrested?" Picking up a magazine, she proceeded to beat Ichigo upside the head. "You're such a dumb little punk."

"Ow, kami sakes woman! Stop hitting me," Ichigo moaned, ducking away from the woman's fierce assaults. "If you let me explain, geez."

Crossing her arms and glaring hard, she demanded, "Alright, explain."

"The Shiba's have a reputation for being criminals. You should know by now the cops don't need a reason to arrest you. They can pick anyone up for questioning," Ichigo explained, lazily rubbing his now pained head.

"Don't I know it," the woman growled. "Those damn bastards, any time something bad happened in our old neighborhood, cops showed up at our door looking to pick up one of the boys." Shooting daggers into the man, she said, "Still, are you going to be okay? Why don't you just leave, and I'll say I don't know where you are?"

Shaking his head, Ichigo said, "Bad idea. If I get caught living here later on, then they'll know I have something to hide. You'll also get in trouble for lying to an officer, and I won't have that."

"Well as touched as I am by your concern, Ichigo-kun," the woman stated sarcastically, "I'm still worried about this. How did they find out where you're staying so soon?"

"Yeah. I knew the guy was good, but not this good. He's only been on the case for a few days, and he already has some idea that it's you and where you're staying at."

Ichigo smirked and shrugged his shoulders, picking up one of the pervy ladies bake goods. "Guy's not that smart. I bet I know what he's thinking. I'm hiding in plain sight, the most obvious place. So obvious no one would think to look here." Watching as Ichigo talked through bites of food, Uryu thought that one thing Ichigo hadnt lost over the last year was his bad manners. "What he's not considering is the idea that I'm hiding here because this is also the most innocent place to be found, and that I really don't mind if he find's out where I'm staying." Ichigo swallowed down the food and licked each individual crumb covered finger.

Before his cousin could once again belugaurd him for his devil-may-care attitude, Uryu said, "Don't worry, Shiba-san. He's right, we do have counter measures. The less you know the better." His tone sharpening and his austere glare turning towards the ginger, he added, "Though it is worth a little more than a bat of the eye."

Turning his nose into the pit of his sweat stained Gi and sniffing, Ichigo made a look of disgust. "Ehhw," he grimaced, "I'm going to go shower. The last thing I want is to be stuck in that room for days smelling like an old shoe."

Recalling how Ichigo once said he'd seduce agent Kuchiki if he had to, Uryu said, "Gotta impress your boyfriend?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes, and his cousin baffled, "Boyfriend? Ha, no one would date this loser."

"Again, you really don't want to know," Uryu said. "Oh, and Kurosaki, what about the mission later today?"

"Don't execute," was all he said.

Sighing, Uryu talked as he looked over a chart. "I'll tell them, but I really think you should reconsider. It'll just make you look even more innocent. Plus, knowing them, they'll still want to proceed with or without your blessing."

"Then convince them not too," Ichigo said. "It'll be over kill anyway. Plus you know I don't want others to do the hits."

"Yea, but I don't know why," Uryu spat.

Putting on the impression that he was miffed when he truly felt just empty, empty and slightly curious about how the day's events would unfold, Ichigo said coldly, "That's none of your business."

As he walked away, Ishida yelled, "Yeah, well you can't even shoot anyway!"

"I can shoot perfectly fine!" Ichigo yelled back, now muttering, "Geez why do people keep saying that?"

"Because you can't shoot, dumb ass," his cousin shot back just before the sound of the bathroom door shutting rang through the hallway.

Freshly washed, Ichigo stepped out in fitted denim jeans, a grey v neck, and a hooded dark purple jacket. He looked at Uryu, and the man looked back, yet before any words could be exchanged, the doorbell sounded off.

Continuing that glare for just a second longer, Uryu pointed towards the stairwell. "I believe your date is here to pick you up."

Ichigo scoffed and rolled his eyes as he turned towards the stairs. Waving over his shoulder, he said, "Wish me luck."

Concerned, Uryu bit his lip nervously. Though it was unlike him, he walked to the stairs, and from the arch way said, "Be safe, Kurosaki."

Ichigo turned from his position halfway down the stairs. With a slight smirk, he shook his head and continued his path. "What kind of guy do you think I am?" he asked flatly, "I'm not going to do it on the first date."

"Not what I meant, moron!" Uryu spat, "...and you so would."

Now at the bottom of the stairs, Ichigo turned and put on a fraudulent smile. He supposed he was trying to convey some type of happiness he didn't feel, or perhaps he just wanted to reassure his friend that everything would in fact be okay. "It'll be fine, Ishida. Everything's going to work out."

 **xXx**

Standing outside of the Kurosaki clinic, a dozen or so possibilities ran through Byakuya's head. Things we're getting stickier and he wasn't quite sure if he loved or hated it. Either way, it was time to step forward.

"You look troubled, Byakuya," Renji said, fretting a brow.

Musing, he looked from the doorbell and back to the other agent. "I'm just considering, that is all. Perhaps The Ghost had been smart enough to consider my intelligence and is not staying here. That could be an actual possibility. However, if he is here, then it's also possible that he does not fear us finding out his whereabouts. It could mean that he is certain that we'll find nothing to incriminate him."

Though Byakuya didn't look troubled, just the subtle micro expressions were enough for Renji to notice after all the years. "Also, we knows he's intelligent, but what we're not considering is the intelligence of his smartest member. He has a whole team behind him, so he's as smart as the most canny of them."

Renji thought for a moment, and then he shrugged, smiling in his optimistic way. "Yeah, well, we could stew all day, but we'll never know until we hit the doorbell." The redhead did as such, giving a reassuring grin towards his partner.

After a short moment, the door opened, and both men had to bite back shock at the strapping man who was now leaning arms crossed against the threshold. His vibrant orange locks swayed in the wind, only contrasting those intense honey eyes.

Byakuya remembered those eyes, and once he looked into them, he knew. This man, without a doubt, was the ghost.

Yet, the way he answered the door, confidently and all freshly cleaned like he had been waiting for him. Well, let's say, he didn't expect any less from a man of this bravado. No. This was a man whose force of will challenged everyone and everything around him. "Are you Kurosaki Ichigo?"

The man tutted, shifting slightly against the door frame. "Who's asking?"

Cooly, Byakuya responded, "NPA agent Kuchiki Byakuya."

Looking off to the side, Ichigo scoffed humorously. "Am I supposed to be impressed?" he asked before turning his gaze back to the server yet unfazed glare of the agent. "Yea, I'm him. What do you want, NPA agent Kuchiki Byakuya?"

Pulling out his handcuffs, Byakuya stated sharply, "You're under arrest for being suspected of over sixty degrees of homicide. You have a right to an attorney and a right to remain silent."

Putting on his best shocked face, Ichigo actually chuckled a bit. He figured nervous laughter and disbelief would seem more authentic than attempting a frantic expression. "Seriously, you guys think _I_ killed over sixty people?"

Perking an eyebrow, the agent said, "Oh, no. I know you did and much more. Now, if you'd be so kind to turn around, unless you'd rather my partner turn you around himself."

Ichigo smiled and nodded. "If you insist on wasting your time, I'll do anything to help out local law enforcement."

At the mawkish grin and the fake, so overtly patronizing statement of civil duty, Byakuya almost wanted to laugh, but bite it back well.

"But, look, can we ditch the hands cuffs? I do run a clinic here, and some of these students actually see me as a role model." Byakuya, for the first time, noticed that Ichigo only looked at him. Never once averting his eyes to the other agent, and that realization was somehow unnerving. Pointedly, Ichigo said, "I'm sure you know how bad your reputation can be around here once your family's name is associated with criminal activity."

Arching an eyebrow, Byakuya thought, _'Is that a threat? What does he know about me? Certainly that statement was meant for me and me alone.'_ Yet, for some reason, he found himself agreeing.

With a nod of the head, Renji stepped forward and hoisted the man by the forearm. "Let's go, cheeky."

"Woe there big guy, watch it!" Ichigo yelped as the man dragged him roughly down the steps. "I see he's the brains and your the muscle, geez tear a guy's arm off why don't you." When Renji's grip just tightened, Ichigo looked up to the man and snarked, "Nice hair, pineapple."

Sneering at the man, Renji pushed him forwards. "Shut up, and save your talking for the station."

 **xXx**

 **clarit** **: Ek, thats one of my favorite parts of BVS. It just felt so real and was completely splendid. Well if it didn't seem like Byakuyas team was close before, it sure does now! lol. Hopefully Ichigo will have something up his sleeve. He always does. ;) Thanks for the review. Your continued support is mucho appreciated. ~ Ashes.**

 **Mai Kurosaki: Hey hun! this was a long and juicy chapter filled with tons of plot. I know it's a lot, but I hope it didn't feel like to much. I tried to balance out plot with character development for good pacing. This just felt right. Oh, the web will defiantly thicken. I'm not going easy on these characters. Mwahaha. I'm just now getting to the juicy stuff and I can't wait. Thanks for your review! Let me know what you think. Good vibes ~ Ashes.**

 **MsMJ: Thank you for pointing that out! When my lazy butt gets around to it, I'm going to go back and edit all these grammatical mistakes. I hope you're still reading this and that I've managed to keep your attention. Good vibes. ~ Ashes.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Hey guys! So, I'd first like to say that I'm dedicating this chapter to the victims of the Orlando shooting and I urge all my readers, if at all possible, to donate blood in solidarity. If you don't know about this, it's the biggest mass shooting to ever take place in america and it was also a hate crime against the LGBT community. Considering this is yaoi, we all love our gays, right?**

 **I'll skip my usual rambling and let you get straight to it. I hope you enjoy the relationship I'm building with these two. It was fun to write, but equally as stressful.**

 **PS: As always, this story needs love. Love and comments. Please.**

 **Good Vibes ~ Ashes.**

 **xXx**

" **Here is something you can't understand;**

 **How I could just kill a man."**

 **-Rage against the Machine**

 **xXx**

 **Our First Date**

 **2:48 p.m**

"We're almost to 3,000 meters. I'll give you two the signal soon," the pilot explained over the blaring assault of wind filling the cabin.

With one hand tightly secured to an overhanging beam and another latched to a handle on the wall of the plane, Gotō Tadamasa looked out of the opening and upon the rich greenery of their homeland with knots of fear twisting in his gut. His hands were drenched in sweat, making his grip slippery. As he looked down, the velocity of such a wind tightening the slight wrinkles on his panicked face.

A swift pat to the back made a fresh jolt of adrenaline surge through him, only adding to the breathless throbs of his chest.

"Watanabe-san, you old goat, I'll kill you for this," Gotō threatened as he looked over to his rather blissfully amused comrade, Watanabe Yoshinori.

"Ha!" Watanabe's laugh rang over the wind stifling their hearing. "You're so frightened of something like this?"

"Man is meant to be on land, not jumping out of planes! If the great forces that be wanted us flying, they'd given us wings!" Gotō argued, glaring down once again only to have a familiar sickness fill him. "I've never even been sky diving before, yet now we're about to go banzai jumping after only an hour of training. You're mad!"

"Ah! That's the joy of having your own private plane, we don't have to follow the regulations," the man elated in oblivion.

"NOT THE POINT!"

"You did say you wanted to take me out to do something for my birthday," the elder man smirked.

"I was speaking more of a round of sake or a run around the fūzoku, not this!" Gotō scoffed. "You truly are going senile in your old age, Watanabe-san."

Gripping the man's shoulder and giving him a blithe yet forceful shake, the elder said, "Is it senile to want to feel alive? I do not believe so! In the lives we live, full of crime and danger, we could die at any moment. I won't stop these old bones just because death is around every corner."

"Weren't you meant to have this crisis mid life, not mid sixties?" Gotō rolled his eyes.

"Stop being such a scared girl, Gotō-san, or I may just push you out this plane myself. Besides, with this Ghost trouble, we are safer up here than we are anywhere else."

With an arched eyebrow, Gotō gave the other a questioning look. With just a subtle hint of amusement, he asked, "Are you afraid of The Ghost, Watanabe-san?"

The elder shrugged his shoulders. "And if I am? Even men as dangerous as ourselves have the things we fear. You fear jumping from planes, I fear seeing those notorious eyes with my own."

"Doesn't it seem the thing of fairy tails at times though? Like the stories your parents tell you to keep you in line." Gotō chuckled dryly. "You hear the things they say, like if you see him, you'll never live to tell the tail? Even his name sounds preposterous."

"Ah, but he is very much real. This we know." He gave the younger man a sagacious glare driven by years of experience. "You're still youthful enough to be so arrogant, but at thirty nine you are pushing it." The elder laughed. "No. I'm sure our dead collages too thought they were above this man's wrath. Yet, what you younger men fail to realize is, even monsters are hunted by bigger beast. We must stop letting our power go to our heads and assuming that we are the only things that go bump in the night. We must accept that we could die at any moment because, from this entity, there is no where that is safe."

"Except zooming around at one hundred miles an hour in a three ton flying machine," Gotō jested.

"Ha!" The elder grinned, a twinkle of whimsy filling his eyes. "Life is ironic, isn't it?"

"Alright guys," the pilot yelled, grabbing the men's attention. "We're at the correct altitude, so jump whenever you're ready."

"Remember what I said, Gotō-san," the elder clarified. "You'll throw your parachute out, wait two seconds, and then jump after it. Do not worry about it getting away from you, that is the reason it is connected to the cable that is connected to our harness. After you jump, give yourself some time to get use the the sensation of falling. You'll have plenty of it, no need to rush and panic." Seeing his friend's blanched face, he comforted, "It will be fine! I'll jump out right behind you. So if you get nervous, I'll assist you."

Managing a terrified smile, Gotō said, "You better hope I don't die or my old lady will have your hide for this!"

"Ha! And as the godfather of your children, I'll be expected to take care of them and take your wife's hand. Not only am I too old for such nonsense, but I've seen your wife, Gotō-san, so you're not dying." Gotō just rolled his eye's at that, and as if intoxicated from the pure excitement of it all, the elder laughed boisterously. "Are you ready to feel alive, my friend!?"

Despite every synapse in his body warning against this, sending his body into an instinctual survival mode, Gotō exclaimed, "Ah, fuck it!"

As he threw his parachute from the plane, there was no going back. He wasn't even sure if he waited the whole two seconds, for Gotō knew if he let himself think about what he was about to do, it would never happen.

The next thing he felt was a pillow of wind pushing against him, almost supporting his free falling motions. Just as his comrade said, there was no sickness or a 'dropping sensation', and once the adrenaline settled, it was actually quite comfortable.

He laughed, giddy from the exhilaration of it all and the beauty of the mountainous landscape encompassing him. Yes. Falling to what could be his certain death was the most free and alive the man had ever felt.

Looking up, he saw his comrade falling through the air with the same breathless elation, before he decided to work his way towards his pack falling a few feet away from him.

Grasping onto the rope that his well being hinged on, he pushed himself forward while pulling the pack towards him. After a few moments of exertion, he found the parachute in his clutches and put it on as one puts on a backpack. He looked up once more, seeing the elder was catching up speed to him and merely floated a few yards above him while also putting on his pack.

Pulling at his chute, he jolted as the safety device slowed his speed rapidly, making his stomach drop.

The elder was hooting and hollering, making declarations of his liveliness with a toothy chasm of a smile pulling at his saggy skin.

Blood running over with the pure zeal of the moment, Gotō too let out a bellowing scream as if vindicating his vitality to the universe, making sure that it knew he was there and a force to be reckoned with.

The scream tapered into laughter as he looked up back to his friend through floaty eyes, little hexagons of sunlight blinding him momentarily. "We must do this again! I feel so ali-"

Immediately, his face blanched at the gout sight of the slumped listless body of the elder and a single stream of blood painting the sky, sputtering out and dripping on Gotō's face.

Before his fear could completely register or his blood curdle from anticipation, the world and all of its buoyant liveliness was nothing but a flash of awareness before he was sent spiraling into the void of nihility. His own blood now adding to the macrobe blood drizzle raining down on the earth.

Dwindling, the men were mortified as they floated into the mouth of a lushly animated valley which looked on without empathy.

 **xXx**

 **12:02 p.m**

As the police car pulled up to an unmarked parking lot, Ichigo was sure of one thing: they were not at the bureau. Though he could not see too well out of the tinted windows, he could just tell. His internal map was askew, and it wasn't until the heavy handed agent plucked him from his seat, that he recognized just where they were.

He didn't say anything. He knew his questions would be ignored, and he needed the thinking time anyway.

Looking up to what looked like a run of the mill office building, he gauged his newly evolving situation. Urahara had told him about these places before. They're called dead zones. Facilities owned and operated by the N.P.A and upper government, used for delicate cases.

What made these buildings special was the lack of communication with the outside world and vise versa, which often lead to a lack of morally correct treatment for suspects. Though, Ichigo wasn't one to be exhorting against the moral dubiety of excessive means towards criminals.

Though, even Ichigo found these places deplorable. Like many illegal prisons housed around the world, their prisoners were often held there without precedent once deemed a hazard to the public safety. Trust it wasn't the mob bosses of the world that got a golden ticket into the anything - goes - play - houses of varying illegal contaminant centers, but more often than not, it was the people like himself, Urahara, and his dad.

It was a place for the people who attempted to mess up the bed of which syndicates and politics laid together in. It was a place for people who opposed government controlled crime and liked to cause waves in the seemingly peaceful ocean of synergy that bonded the two.

With no electronic devices allowed in the building, along with security cameras or computers, there was no way for one to intersect into the system's networks. From a hacking standpoint, the place was impenetrable.

As he entered through a back door and was oh so considerately pushed along through a metal detector and down cookie cutter hall ways, Ichigo knew he was at the complete will of Byakuya Kuchiki, and would not leave that building until the agent allowed it, if ever a time came.

 **xXx**

 **12:15 p.m**

Looking through the double sided glass at an aloofly seated Ichigo, the two agents both stood in an equally as pensive silence.

As the door opened to the interrogation enclave, Shinji and Yoruichi filled the room, earning only a passive glance from the two agents.

"Keibu Hirako-san," Byakuya addressed, his glare on Ichigo unperturbed as he spoke. "I'm surprised you're here for this."

"Heh," the man laughed, coming to stand beside the raven agent. "Like I'd miss this for the world."

"I know there are plenty of cases that need your attention. This is the only reason I'm surprised." In reality, Byakuya was only slightly concerned. Only himself, Renji, and Yoruichi knew that himself and Renji were connected to this man by that night in the warehouse, and Byakuya wanted to keep it as such. He had chosen to delegate just what information needed to be given to other members of the task force, considering the sensitivity of this case. More so, he didn't need any speculations about a conflict of interest. The last thing that would aid this case was doubt in him and his motives.

"Well, that just means you'll have to use all those skills you brag about to finish this up quickly, yeah?" Shinji smirked.

"I do not need to flagrantly boast when my record speaks for itself." Byakuya gave something akin to a humorous huff as he took in every mannerism of the man through the looking glass. The thrum of his fingers, the rate of his respiration, the shift of his eyes, Byakuya studied it all, taking in his prey's tendencies to better know when and how to strike. "None the less, ghost's can move through walls."

"What do ya' mean?" Shinji asked.

"I won't underestimate this man. For all we know, he is sitting right where he wants to be. Though somewhere within him is a weak point." Sharpening his glare, he purred, "I'll find it."

"Anyway, the rest of the task force is busy with interrogations and all that. Man," Shinji shook his head in disbelief, "the Kurosaki family. I can't believe it."

"There's nothing that shocks me these days." Renji scoffed.

Looking over to Yoruichi, who had been silently perched against an adjacent wall, Byakuya stated obviously, "Yoruichi-san, I see you're here."

With a derisive smirk, she spat, "Yeah, now that you're done taking roll call, are we going to start?" When he let his questioning look float over her, she sighed. "I know what you're thinking. You're worried my heads not in the right place for this, but I'm a big girl, Byakuya. I know where my loyalties lay."

"Actually," he corrected, "I was contemplating asking you to validate his alibi and run his handwriting sample down to forensics. Since you're, as you say it, a big girl, you can handle this, correct?"

Renji was already taking the information they'd obtained from Ichigo when they first entered the facility out of a folder as Yoruichi said, "Yeah, I think i'll manage somehow."

Despite her caustic tone, she was grateful. The task was Byakuya's subtle way of letting Yoruichi know he still trusted her without humbling himself to say such earnest words.

Yoruichi left and a muteness settled over the room, all three taking in the orange haired man. He looked older than he was. He carried it in his eyes, an enervated desolation. It made Byakuya wonder what kept his body ambulatory. Underneath it all, there must be barely lit embers stimulating such fierce actions. What monster within could swallow such an apathy, that he chooses to take life with his own hands? After the things he had suffered, why had he not just simply laid down and died? Or was it that the apathy was the beast in the first place?

No. There had to be something more. The apathy made it easier to take life, but a need that surmounted his indifference was his drive. Did he do it because he simply didn't know what else to do, as if it gave purpose to his now desultory world? Finishing his father's work, did that somehow keep the ties between his lost life and himself alive? Did he feel more connected, more human as Byakuya did when he put seize to the monsters of the world, or did it only deepen the abysm within of which nothing could grow? Was he burying himself within that void of which he also buried the corpses he collected?

It was not so transparent. However, If even one ember of vivacity still smoldered within the man, Byakuya would stoke it.

 **xXx**

 **12:13 p.m**

Calmly calculating, Ichigo sat in an interrogation room that looked very much like one you'd find at the bureau. Comprised of nothing but four walls, a one-way mirror, a metal table, two chairs, an ashtray, and Ichigo.

The bleak enclosure left him with nothing but his thoughts, making it the perfect place to drive a man into a mental break of a confession. Yet, Byakuya must know such tactics wouldn't work on him, or at least that they wouldn't work so simply. If the great white is as intelligent as they all claim, he must have gauged Ichigo's temperament enough to understand emotional strain would not so easily break him. You have to have emotions for them to be used against you.

Without a doubt, he was looking at Ichigo through that mirror right now. Ichigo knew, and Byakuya knew he knew, but Ichigo payed the mirror no mind. That would drive a man like Byakuya crazy, being blatantly ignored, yielding no attention from the object of the huntsman's desire. For his prey to seem utterly unflurried as if the predator was of no threat would rattle him.

The agent was certainly doing his fair share of analyzing, Ichigo was sure. He was studying Ichigo as if he was some sort've esoteric creature to be figured out in an attempt to understand how to proceed.

Being in a dead zone meant Ichigo was virtually non existent. They could keep him here as long as they wanted and had no book to follow on how to proceed. Moreover, they could be less than hospitable in their treatment of him, welcoming him with flying fist and broken bones in an attempt to yield a confession. However, from what he knew about Byakuya Kuchiki, he wouldn't have to worry about such a thing. That wasn't how he played the game.

Yes, this was a game. But how fun are games when the outcomes are fixed? Agent Kuchiki wouldn't lower himself to win in such boorish and bellicose ways. He held to much pride and enjoyment in his own cunning to even indulge the thought.

From extensively studying the file Urahara put together on the unique and arduous life of the agent, Ichigo felt as if he had a leg up. He knew it all, from his family's secrets to his lover's death. He knew of the tragic summer night that connected them. He knew minuet quirks, from his rout to work to the way he took his tea - black. Ichigo knew his weaknesses, and therefore, he was already in the lead. Though, if Byakuya was as shrewd as the rumors depicted him, he should already have some clue about this.

If anything would be Byakuya's undoing, it would be his arrogance. You see, the great white knew Ichigo wasn't some fodder fish to make an easy meal of. No. He considered him more like a sea lion: highly intelligent and hard-won, but an obtainable prey none the less. That's where he was wrong. You see, Ichigo wasn't a prey at all, he was a predator. A killer whale, the only predators to great whites, and if he had to, he'd set his eye's on Byakuya Kuchiki.

The hunter would become the hunted.

Ichigo was informed that a cop came to Urahara looking for him to look into the classified files of his father's death. So it was implied that Byakuya somehow dug up the information with his own connections. Yet, what he really wanted to know was why he was here instead of the bureau. There were a few plausible reasons, but it was all speculation until he talked to the agent. Ichigo wanted to know what answer he'd give him and just how honest he'd be.

While he considered, much like always, it felt as if he was watching life through the scope of a foggy mirror. Things weren't happening to him, but around him. Yet, if only for a blink of an eye, that all halted as Byakuya entered the room and the two locked gazes. Seeing the man there, donned in his perfectly tailored suit and deep mauve button up, his silk tresses held back by a red ribbon, giving a perfect view of his strong and stony features, for an infinitesimal amount of time, he felt painfully aware of his circumstances and exactly who was standing in front of him.

The infamous great white himself, NPA agent Kuchiki Byakuya. Ichigo was in his territory now.

Yet, just as briskly as the fist of reality pounded into his gut, it dissipated.

Without words, yet with unbreakable eye contact, Byakuya strutted to the opposite side of the table, taking a seat across from Ichigo.

Ichigo had never seen someone move with such a purpose yet simultaneously with such a leisurely grace. Being on his field, all they had was time, as much time as Byakuya wanted. Every bit of his body language was the agent's silent way of conveying just that.

' _Already asserting his dominance, I see. Not unexpected.'_

It was obvious the man was in no hurry as his tongue sat inert, and he slowly lifted the lapel of his blazer before taking out his cigarettes and zippo.

As if taking up the challenge, Ichigo sat with an equally unmoved gaze. An aroma of dulcet high dollar tobacco mixed with the scent of a bonfire crackling against a winter night made up the agent's uniquely tantalizing body odor. Every gesture had the artistry of a craftsman and the sophistication of nobility. Purposeful in their distribution, every kinesics screamed power and control, tenacity and cultivation.

So Ichigo sat patiently, unbothered by the intensity of their locked eyes. If anything, the lack of response would show the man his home field advantage and self restraint had little worth to Ichigo.

Byakuya lit up his cigarette and took an intentionally long drag. The vice was perched between two lithe ivory fingers and somehow the man still looked ethereal in his elegance while he indulged. Though, Ichigo couldn't help but think the man looked almost wrong with nicotine stains marring his pink stiff lips and a hazy cloud of smoke stinging his eyes. For the man looked younger than he was, his creamy unblemished skin not seeming that of a smoker's. More over, he smelt too delicious for the habit, not like a walking ashtray most smokers reeked of. Though everything about this man screamed high quality, down to the poison he put in his body.

Only after a _third_ puff, with complete tact, Byakuya asked, "You do not mind if I smoke, yes?"

Ichigo could have laughed at the overtly fraudulent act of hospitality and how slyly patronizing it was. If he had to be stuck in a room with anyone, he guessed he was glad it was this man. Byakuya was slightly amusing in an extremely dangerous way.

"Sure." Ichigo smirked "If I can too. You don't seem like the rude type, Byakuya."

The agent addressed the man with an arched brow. "Of course," he said, picking up his pack. "Where are my manners?" Lifting a second cigarette to his mouth, he lit it _for_ Ichigo, before holding it out and upright by the filter.

Ichigo's smirk grew. _'This guy, every little thing he does is deliberately yet subtly in control. Two can play that game.'_

Leaving the cigarette in his hand, he let it idly burn, never once pressing it to his lips, only ashing it as needed. This was just another act of indirect ascendancy, one the agent took notice of. "So, Byakuya, is this where you bring all the guys, or is it only for the special ones?"

"And what about yourself, Kurosaki Ichigo, do you address everyone so intimately?"

"Well." Ichigo shrugged. "You are accusing me of murder, that's about as intimate as it get's if you ask me." Ichigo arched his shoulders, dipping deeper over the table. "In fact," he added, his voice smothered with implications, "I feel as if I already know you, _Byakuya._ "

Undisturbed, Byakuya rebutted, "As much as I wish that sentiment was returned, I do not think you even know _you_. Though, trust I know enough."

Ichigo leaned back into his chair at that, his face lightening slightly. Bluntly, he asked, "So why am I not at the bureau?"

"Hmm, what I've told the N.P.A is that we must use this facility as a precaution against being infiltrated. Since The Ghost has shown that he has no issue hacking into large scale servers. However," a pause, "the whole truth is a bit more complex than that."

"And you're a man who holds the truth above all else," Ichigo commented.

"Indeed," Byakuya agreed, "it only becomes second to my pride, and it would very much hurt my pride if someone else obtained my prey before I did." Byakuya bite back the curl of the lip that tried to form on his lips. "I'm sure you're aware that I'm not the only man who wants you, Kurosaki Ichigo."

After a contemplative pause, Ichigo said, "Painfully. I was the one who the Inagwa-Kai tried to kill, your bosses tried to kill. I haven't exactly been living in hiding because I needed a vacation."

"So you admit that you're aware that your family's death was covered up?" Byakuya asked smoothly.

"Yeah." Ichigo gave a mocking scoff. "Wasn't that hard to figure out. I didn't even have to break any laws to do so."

"Is that why you do it?" Byakuya asked, delving into the man's eyes for any sort've reaction. "You're angry at the government for covering up the case, so you kill Yakuza members yourself?"

Ichigo's eye remained lifeless as he smirked and shook his head in a ridiculing manner. "Man, that's our legal system for you: guilty until proven innocent. Do you guys even have any proof to back up these claims?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," said Byakuya, his tone somewhere between flat and amused. "If that was the case, we'd already have you booked officially.

With a breathy laugh, Ichigo leaned in closer to the agent once more and ran a tongue over his slightly parted lips. "I don't think it would be so bad, being wanted by a man like you..Though, I'm sorry to disappoint, because I can tell you're use to getting what you want, but I'm not an easy guy to catch." When his smugly sensual comment was met by a stringent glare, Ichigo's smirk deepened. "So why don't you ask your questions, Byakuya. That's why we're here, right? I'm sure you have better things to do than spend your time on the likes of me."

"Oh, trust that you have my full attention, Kurosaki Ichigo." He spoke coolly before asking, "Are you sure you would not like a lawyer present?"

"Only people who are guilty or bad liars need lawyers." He leaned back into his seat slackly, smirk firmly in place. "I'm neither."

"So," a pause, "what do you remember from the night of your family's death?"

Ichigo shrugged a shoulder, looking on with a blank face. "Not much, honestly. Only little flashes, but I guess I repressed most of it."

"A repressed memory?" Byakuya stated, cocking an eyebrow. _'That fits with the prognosis Unohana sensei gave us. It's a symptom of unresolved trauma and a detachment disorder.'_

"I remember enough to know it happened, what happened. I don't really need the details," Ichigo said aloofly, looking rather bored.

"Being so detached from the things around you, it must provide useful when you take the lives of those men so heedlessly, yes?" Byakuya commented wryly.

"And what about you?" Ichigo let out a low chuckle. "I'm sure a man like yourself has seen some things he had to detach himself from. It's basic survival. You crumble apart or you grow harder, those are your two options."

' _He always avoids my questions flat out. Deflects by asking a question of his own.'_ "There's a third option," Byakuya said, earning a curious look from the other. "You can grow better. You can chose to accept your feelings and work them out, resiliently walk forward with a new perspective. Wallowing in your pain and completely ignoring it, these two radicals are not the only choses, just the only ones you see." 

Ichigo's eyes darkened a tint, and in just above a whisper, he asked, "And what about you? Which one are you?"

Byakuya blinked a couple of times in a pensive manner. "I'm simply on my way, neither here nor there, I suppose," he answered candidly, even surprising himself with his blatant honesty. "Yet I'm trying, and I think that's the most us little humans can do."

With a serious look and unbroken eye contact, Ichigo said what Byakuya considered the most genuine thing to leave his mouth since they met. "I can respect that."

For a moment too long, the two locked eyes, as if searching for the hidden person behind the pretenses that they both held onto desperately. For just a breath in time, their souls seemed to resonate on some latent level, as if both completely empathized with the others circumstances of existence, as if a spark erupted and they could feel the essence of the others continuous.

Breaking the trance, Byakuya cleared his throat before asking, "Just so we're clear, for the record, you're claiming that you're not The Ghost, yes?"

Without hesitation, Ichigo burrowed into the truth seeking coals of Byakuya and nodded. "I didn't kill anyone," he said confidently, with such confidence that, If Byakuya wasn't a man of superior skill and instinct, he'd be inclined to believe him.

' _Such serious eye's, eye's that look as if they belong to a man with great vigor and fiery temerity. Yet they freeze me. Their dull and without the spark of life, the spark of hope. Though I do not know this man, those eyes do not look correct on him, as if they use to once be filled with so much more.'_

"You said earlier that the only person who needed a lawyer was either a bad liar or guilty," he reminded. "I've surmised which category you fall into. You are truly a formidable liar, Kurosaki Ichigo, but my instinct is by far more onerous to surpass."

Smilingly contently, Ichigo said, "Well I guess I'll just have'ta convince you otherwise."

 **xXx**

 **1:53 p.m**

"Tell me a little about your family, Kurosaki Ichigo." The NPA agent was ignoring a pain in his back, practicing full control over his regal posture. His throat was dry and his eye's burnt from a thick haze of tobacco smoke. Byakuya's taciturn glare burrowed into the other man who was leaned back lazily in his chair, his hands stuck in the pockets of his hoodie. Uninterested was the only emotion he seemed to express, if you could even call apathy an emotion. Sometimes, in the thick of their interrogation, if only to entertain himself, the man would become snarky and almost humoured. Yet that was it in the feeling's department.

Lightly frayed orange tresses swooshed messily over a pair of aloof eyes, and though the man held little grace, there was an astounding amount of reflexive control in the way he held himself and those lifeless eyes. One might say the same about Byakuya and his statuesque air that was only bested by that of a stone column. Yet that was the difference. Byakuya's restraint was forced, meticulously held in place by years of conditioning and self discipline. It was not a simple reflex, no matter how many years he had practiced it. It was purposeful, and in that regard, Byakuya very much _cared._ Whereas Ichigo so obviously did not, because his composed temperament was not something that took training or needed to be held, but was something that came natural. It was violently thrusted upon him as an effect of his trauma. This was raw apathy.

Ichigo grunted slightly, his eyes wavering between the gradually filling ashtray and the imposingly beautiful agent. "At least you're asking me something different. You sound like a god damn broken record." He adjusted in his seat awkwardly. "Not much to say, I don't have a family."

"But that is not true. Are the Shiba's not your family?" Byakuya asked.

"I guess you can call us that." Ichigo gave a shallow, fraudulent chuckle. "We kind've just got pushed into the same shit of a situation together. I barely saw them growing up."

"Ah," Byakuya noted, adjusting his crossed legs in his usually measured way. "So their family by blood, but not by sentiment."

"We got each other's backs. That's all that matters," Ichigo explained, sinking even deeper into his seat.

"Is that so? You have a peculiar way of showing it. Is having someone's back putting them directly in the line of fire of this mess you've created?" When Ichigo didn't respond right away, Byakuya said, "Because, just so you're clear, they too will be questioned." Mockingly, he pondered, "Hm, you have held up quite well so far, but I wonder if your family with have your particular defenses."

' _It's highly probable that the family who lives with him knows of his criminal activity. Not to mention his team backing him. It makes me wonder, what makes so many people believe in this seemingly unfeeling man so fervently, enough to risk their own lives.'_

Only after throwing the agent a rather unimpressed look, a hint of a smirk grew on Ichigo's face. "You obviously haven't done your homework. Shiba's are known for being criminals from where their from. Trust me, they aren't the type that can be sweat out." A pause. "Besides, even if there was something to be confessed, which there's not, their the loyal types. If they wouldn't open their mouths against themselves, they sure as hell won't do it for family."

With a patronizing huff, Byakuya said, "If only you were as loyal to them as they were to you. One would think you'd consider their well being in all of this. I suppose you care little about the true meaning of _family_."

It was only the briefest of occurrences, but that glass partition that seemed to separate Ichigo from the world around him, kept him shielded from the intensity that was his reality, slipped. It malfunctioned, allowing something to slip into his defenses. A spark of hostility burgeoned in his eyes at the notion that Ichigo didn't know the true meaning of family, yet was swept away before it could thrive. Like always, just like the ghost he was, his coldness returned with a vengeance. Even more than before, he felt himself dissipate, as if he stepped outside of himself, his anger floating away from him as he watched on in frigid indifference.

Still, it was troubling. This only seemed to happen during one of his rare nightmares or when it somehow related to Byakuya.

The agent took note of this reaction, though only a nuance, and found in quite fascinating. That feral glint that radiated for a mere millisecond, it was as powerful as it was authentic.

' _So this is his weakness: family.'_

Returning to his halcyon disposition, Ichigo said, "That's funny, coming from the guy who put his own dad away. That is what made you so famous." He stressed the next words. " _Great White._ "

' _True, this is a widely know fact, but I have my doubts that he knows this from mere gossip. I'm sure he looked into me, meaning he may know much more about me than I know about him. This could be dangerous.'_

Looking completely unbothered, Byakuya nodded amicably. "I'd agree, If I claimed that man as my family. Though your implications that I put him away without just cause shows just how little you truly know about the circumstances of his arrest." Sounding rather pleased with himself, Byakuya goaded, "However, if you'd like to continue fishing for insults, please, be my guest."

Ichigo just gave an amused huff in response. In actuality, he knew most of what happened regarding Byakuya's father, and honestly, Ichigo probably would have done the same thing Byakuya did If his own father was such a dirty cop. If those double dealing ways were what put his mother in her grave, he'd probably handle the man in not too legal ways. Still it spoke volumes about the man Byakuya was. Logical, but not as cold as some may think. No. It could only be considered cold if there was nothing personal in his pursuit. If it had been easy. It was apparent that such a mission was a self sacrifice for him and stemmed from a deep betrayal. But, of course, he couldn't very well say any of this.

"And what about this doctor who works in your clinic? Ishida Uryu Senpai, what is your involvement with him?" Byakuya asked, quick to move on to the next subject.

Ichigo yawned and shrugged his shoulder. "We were acquaintances in high school. Now he rents out the space for his clinic work. Seeing as I don't technically exist and all, I can't have a normal job or much of a normal life at all. I run the dojo for free, so he's how I make my money."

"Hm," Byakuya mused, "I wonder what he will say of your relationship when we bring him in for questioning?"

"Look," Ichigo sighed, "like I said, we're not even close. We barely even get involved in each others lives. Don't go bringing him into this."

"My, for not being close, you seem much more adamant about not involving him than not involving your family." He perked his eyebrow suggestively. "You must care for him."

"I care about being able to feed myself," Ichigo corrected.

Not deterred, Byakuya speculated, "Perhaps he is a romantic interest?"

Ichigo couldn't help the mocking laugh that escaped his lips at the notion of him and Ishida. "Why?" Ichigo smirked sly. "Jealous? Do you want the position?"

Just as mockingly, Byakuya rebutted, "The only position I desire in regards to you is one of which I'm watching you be dragged away in handcuffs."

"Kinky, Byakuya." Ichigo's lopsided grin grew.

The agent scoffed gently, not even dignifying the man's words. "I suppose if you two are not close, he has very little reason to protect you."

"Yea, but as I said a dozen times, there's nothing to protect," Ichigo stressed.

"I've pulled his file. He's rather intelligent. Son of a doctor, top of all of his classes, it's impressive. Book wise, he even surmounts my intelligence."

"Is there a point to this other that flaunting your own inflated ego?" Ichigo exasperated.

"Simply that there are multiple types of intelligence: Spatial, mathematical, linguistic, kinesthetic, interpersonal, the list goes on and on. You can be any variety of these and even discipline yourself to be more proficient in certain areas. For instance, I have high standings in intrapersonal intelligence - a high level of introspective and self - reflection capabilities that allows me to understand my strengths and weaknesses. I also excel in interpersonal intelligence - a high sensitivity to other's emotions, temperaments, and motivations. That was something I had to hone, seeing as it is integral to detective work, and my father's rather cold approach to child rearing left my emotional intelligence somewhat stunted." Intently, he thrummed his fingers against the table, letting the sound echo around to room. "I wonder what combination of intelligence this Ishida Uryu has and if he'll be able to hold out. You see, as a man who is true to my ideals, I would never keep you nor your associates for questioning over the legally allotted amount of time. In fact, because of the secrecy of this case, I'm not even allowed to beseech the court for extra time. Still," a pause, "three days is quite a long spand, do you not agree? It's more than enough time for things to get confused, muddied, for lies to begin to crumble." Softer, yet laced with smugness, Byakuya said, "I do have a one hundred percent conviction rate. So it makes me wonder, how confident are you in your friend's intelligence? Will it help him keep it all together?"

Once again, Ichigo gave a shallow chuckle while keeping his eyes fixed on the grey one's. "Ishida's intelligence means he the type of guy to get a lawyer right off the bat. He doesn't take chances. I know _all_ about the way our due process systems works and how exactly we've earned such a high conviction rate in this country. Or did you forget that I was a cop too? Arresting people without evidence, almost non stop interrogation for three days until you drive a person into false confessions." Scoffing, he said saucily, "But hey? Who cares about the truth as long as you get that conviction rate, right?"

Frankly, Byakuya said, "Yes, that is how some officers operate. However, I hold myself to a higher standard. I only interrogate and hold those whom I'm certain of their guilt. Working in homicide, I could never take such blatant risk when lives are at stake, and even so, it's a matter of pride for me." Smirking marginally, he informed, "You see, I rather enjoy hunting criminals. I'm only cheating myself by cutting corners." With the next words, he was gauging the man's reaction with a gripping magnitude. "Perhaps you're speaking of your own father when talk about marooning the truth for personal intentions."

His words were only met with even colder eyes, almost challengingly piercing. None of the fury Byakuya had intended to imbue flickered in the man's mirrors, but instead, they reflected a wasteland.

Lacing his fingers and clasping his hands in front of him on the table, Ichigo leaned in to his forearms, closing some of the distance between the two. "Was that suppose to get some sort've reaction from me?" he asked, his smirk in full display. "I know what kind of man my father was, so your taunting has little effect." If at all possible, he looked even deeper into Byakuya's eyes. "So, if you'd like to continue fishing for insults," he mocked, echoing the man's earlier words, "please, be my guest."

As expected, Byakuya's face was unmoved as he let out a huff, not really knowing if he was frustrated, challenged, amused, or a combination of all three. "Of course, I expect no reaction. You'd have to have emotions to react."

 **xXx**

 **3:15 p.m**

Abandoning his finely pressed blazer across the back of his chair, Byakuya had moved to his feet to stretch his legs. Ambling smoothly, he puffed lightly on a cigarette as he stood near a still seated Ichigo.

Coming over to Ichigo's side of the table, he sat on the edge with nimbly crossed legs. Invading a suspect's space while you catechized them was a great interrogation tool. It worked to fluster and press a person into feeling overwhelmed _,_ pressuring them into an emotional break. Only, unfortunately for agent Kuchiki, he too was flustered by the impenetrable presence of Ichigo, and he found himself hard press to make any real leeway. Of course, there were tiny telling moments, but nothing spectacular.

"I'll ask you once more," Byakuya reiterated, "where were you on the evening of April 4th? The night of The Ghost's biggest hit."

"I don't know!" Ichigo scoffed. "That was over five months ago, and I don't remember things that are not important, Byakuya."

"For someone who is cunning enough to implicate mass murder on such a grand scale, I imagine it would be a simple task for you to address me formally," Byakuya chastised.

Ichigo gave a self satisfied smirk. "Didn't you just hear me? I said I don't remember things that aren't important. Besides, you're not addressing me all too formally yourself. Shouldn't you be calling me Kurosaki - yōgisha?"

Nonchalantly, Byakuya justified, "I enjoy the meaning of your full name. I find it almost ironic. Kurosaki Ichigo: the black capped protector of one thing. It makes one think your parents could see into the future and saw the man you'd grow to be. You're a man who tries to protect things from the shadows, despite how misguided your methods may be."

"Yeah, well obviously they didn't look to closely," Ichigo denounced. "If I was any type of protector, they wouldn't be dead right now."

"When you talk of your family's death," Byakuya observed, "you seem utterly detached."

"Their dead, and I'm just trying to live my life. I'm _so_ sorry that I'm not falling apart at the seams by the very mention of their names," Ichigo reasoned derisively. "Would you be happier if I started shedding some tears?"

Holding back a groan of irritation, Byakuya concluded, "Surely the life of a man in hiding can not be so exciting that you have no recollection of where you might have been that evening."

Ringing a hand through his locks, Ichigo surmised, "I was probably doing the same thing I usually do on weekends, out looking for prey."

As Ichigo's mellow smirk became more wild and his eyes filled with lecherous implications, Byakuya narrowed his brow in scrutiny. "As in prey, do you perhaps mean your next murder victim?"

Licking his bottom lip in a more overt display, Ichigo reasoned, "I'm pretty skilled, but my _activities_ have never left anyone incapacitated, let alone dead." Truthfully, Ichigo was starting to feel like a bored child, and after three hours of this, he found himself reveling in the chance for some source of entertainment. Though, agent Kuchiki was an admirably beautiful and viral man, and Ichigo probably enjoyed getting under his skin more than he should. Still, listening to that baritone on loop for hours straight, despite its soothing properties, was more than an impetus to tease the man. It also didn't hurt to open some avenues for himself later, lest he truly found a _need_ to seduce the man in the future. Granted, there was a bordering on unhealthy _want_ to bed the agent, but he wouldn't simply dip his feet in such thrillingly risky waters without good cause.

When Byakuya just stared him down with dubious eyes, his lambent ivory skin still glowing beautifully under the unforgiving harshness of fluorescent lights, Ichigo just had to push the line a little further. Sitting up and leaning forward so he was only encouraging their proximity, challenging, if not playing chicken with the invasion of personal boundaries, Ichigo asked, "What about you, Byakuya?" He purred, "Ever have a guy give it to you so good you blacked out?"

Though his face twisted to something that could be described as affronted, Ichigo noticed the heaviness of his chest and the increased labor of the other's breathing, as if he was being weighed down by some conceptual force. "Are you actually flirting with me?"

The younger man couldn't help the grin that festooned his rather handsome face. "Oh, come on, it's one of the biggest don't ask, don't tell secrets of the entire Tokyo police force. That the majestic Great White's favorite stiffs to check out aren't the one's you find at crime scenes. I was just letting you know that we're batting for the same team." He winked. "That's all."

Pushing those limits to their apex, Byakuya leaned forward and breached the space with an almost visceral animalistic hate - lust backing up his acrimonious yet haughtily controlled words. With strands of raven hair tickling at his cheek and a humid breath creeping across his ear, Ichigo couldn't help but shiver minutely when Byakuya said, "We're not even in the same league, _boy_."

Only turning his face marginally, Ichigo's lips just barely brushed against the others faintly blushed cheek as he rasped, "Now who's the one that's flirting?"

Within a breath, Byakuya had backed away, pushing himself from the table before settling back in the opposing chair. Ichigo linked his fingers and leaned his head back against the intertwined digits. "Ya know, you can only ask a guy so many times if he's murdered someone before it starts to get old. If you're going to keep me in here, I think I should ask some questions of my own."

Silently, Byakuya considered for a moment before accepting the words for the challenge they were. "You may ask whatever you like. The more you talk, the more likely you are to say something incriminating or something helpful to the case."

With an almost devious gleam in his eyes, Ichigo said, "It's good to finally met you, separate fact from fiction. There were always some rumors going on about you."

"Unsatisfied people do enjoy scrutinizing the lives of others, if only to avoid their own boredom."

"Yeah," Ichigo agreed, "I've always been more into finding out the truth on my own, but they were right about one thing." With no regard for the words he was about to say or the effect they might have, only his own mission in mind, Ichigo said, "You really are married to your job. I mean, when's the last time you spend a night with a man who wasn't dead or a co worker? Phf, you need to relax some, get out of these tiny suffocating rooms. Seriously, how could any man who's spent more than five minutes with such a single minded, stuck up guy and not want to kill themselves?"

 **xXx**

 **3:25 p.m**

"I always thought it was like a dance," Renji noted to his blond haired companion as he stood observing the back and forth ensuing between the agent and Ichigo. "The way he interrogates people, it's like a dance no one else can step into."

Shinji gave the man an aslant glare, amused in it's nature. "Yeah, almost like a mating dance," he scoffed slyly, grinning from cheek to cheek.

With a downward curled lip and netted brow, Renji affronted, "What are you trying to imply about Byakuya-san?"

"Heh, I didn't mean mean anything by it, big red," he smirked, explaining himself. "It's just, for guys like Kuchiki, his love for hunting down criminals comes from an intuitive place. Kind of like an animalistic drive that's ingrained in predators. They just know from birth to hunt. Back in my military days, I knew guys who would get raging boners from battles. Because, ya know, the sex drive is just as ingrained, since it's also apart of a survival instinct, and sometimes those drives can get muddied. Especially for guys who feel most alive when their hunting down criminals or on the verge of death."

"What," Renji scoffed, "like, I hate you so bad, I want to fuck you? That's ridiculous."

"Ehhh," tilting his head back and forth, Shinji said, "I wouldn't discount it. I mean, why do you think people like angry sex or make up sex so much?" Nudging the agent in the shoulder, Shinji said lewdly, "My old lady and I have some of our best throws after we argue. It's that built up tension and anger. It might sound kind've messed up, but in a primitive way, lust and anger can go hand in hand. We can't escape our roots, my friends. We're animals with thumbs at the end of the day."

"Maybe, but it has it's limits. Trust me, I've hated someone so much before that the idea of them touching me made me sick."

Nodding in agreement, Shinji speculated, "You're right. It' does have it's limits. Still, I don't think our Bya-kun really hates Kurosaki. If anything, I think he has a certain respect and understanding for him, while at the same time, he is completely frustrated by him because he pushes his boundaries. He is a conundrum, as they say."

"Still," Renji growled, "Byakuya-san definitely doesn't want to _do_ Kurosaki."

With an impish smile and an analytical glare, Shinji observer the close proximity of which the two men sat. "Eh, maybe not consciously, and I certainly don't think he will _do_ him, but there's something about the tension they share. It's swelteringly sexual."

Making a considering noise, Renji did not look pleased, but added nothing else.

' _Seriously, how could any man who's spent more than five minutes with such a single minded, stuck up guy and not want to kill themselves?'_

Looking ready to pounce through the bulletproof glass, Renji let out a deathly growl. "I think that just met its limits," he spat venomously before heading towards the door.

With a tight grip on the man's forearm, Shinji implored, "Woe, hold it. What do you think you're doing?"

"Switching places with Byakuya-san. Did you hear what that fucking monster just said to him? I won't let him speak to Byakuya like that."

"Yeah, it was pretty fucked up," Shinji agreed, tightening his grip, "but Kuchiki doesn't need your help, and I don't think he'll appreciate you going in there all half cocked. Are you simple or something?"

With a gritty voice, Renji commanded, "Stand down, Keibu Hiriko-san."

Not yet ready to back down, Shinji locked an intense glare on that of Renji's like two animals asserting dominance. Finally, seeing the other would not budge, Shinji loosened his grip. "Fine. Ya' wanna make an ass out of yourself? Go right ahead. I'll be out here laughing at you when Kuchiki sends you out with your tail between your legs."

 **xXx**

 **3:26 p.m**

Though he deliberately said the words, at the potent flash of observably haunted pain that filled the agent's eyes, Ichigo truly realized the severity. Not only had he reminded the man of one of the most heart wrenching experiences of his life, but Ichigo all but flat out said that Byakuya's ex lover's suicide was his fault, probably reinforcing an insecurity that the agent had already held. Immediately, he found himself wanting to take it back. A foreign guilt filled him until he was almost frothing with regret, yet he held on to the smugly pleased exterior.

He did not consider himself an unnecessarily cruel man, for his sinfully horrible implications were not without reason. Getting under the agent's skin was beneficial to him. It put them too close for comfort, having the effect of either building up a tension that brought them closer or made the agent pull away from him as a result. Either way, there was something to be yielded. It also let to agent know, without actually expressing it, just what Ichigo knew about him and how far he was willing to go. Ichigo was playing games because that was exactly what this was, a huge match of mind fucks. One way or another, Byakuya wouldn't be leaving his life anytime soon, so he had to dominate him, possibly use the agent's presence to his advantage in ways Ichigo had yet to figure out. His thoughtless words had just been one more move in this game of chess he was playing. He was only setting up possible moves for the future, offering insurance, protecting his queen, asserting himself. This wasn't personal, this was survival. He couldn't feel bad about moving his pieces.

Yet..despite how the agent easily regained his stoic face, Ichigo was sure that, that brief moment of pure agony that washed over his lovely features would be something Ichigo would never forget. That and the sensation of his heart sinking as fast and as deep as a rock swallowed by the jaws of the sea. Over and over, he had to remind himself that this man was trying to ruin everything he worked for, that he had no reason to be apologetic or ashamed. He knew when he began this journey, that he'd have to do and say crass and terrible things for the sake of the mission, and consideration of one man's feelings was a truly petty thing to waste his time on in the grand scheme of things.

Perhaps he killed bad men, but Ichigo was no hero in this story. He was just a subjacent level of monster. And one day, when all was said and done and they finally locked him away like the unfeeling creature he was - that he became - he'd have plenty of time to ruminate on the most regrettable parts of him that lived in his darkest nooks and crannies. Yet, it would not be the lives that he took that plagued his dreams.

He had looked men in the eye's as they took their last breath and felt nothing. Yet, somehow, the look of Byakuya's face as painful memories resurfaced, a look Ichigo caused, caused him more self hatred than he could put into words, more guilt than he could simply kill. Even so, he would banish it to the pits of his gut, rise above it and continue on without supplication or hesitation. He could deal with his guilt on his own time. It had no place in the decisions he made regarding Byakuya Kuchiki.

Despite Ichigo's resolve, the looming silence that followed was piercing, saying more and saying it louder than any words could reach. He wanted it to end. He wanted the man to say some scathing comment in rebuttal. He wanted nothing more than for the man to strike back, for no words could hurt more than the deafening muteness that filled the room with a somber energy. Though he knew he wouldn't, for the first time in a long time, Ichigo genuinely wanted to say 'I'm sorry'. Yet a soldier doesn't apologize to the families of which country they just bombed, as innocent as those people might be, because their end justified the means - or so they believe so. This was no different.

When he finally spoke up, Byakuya's voice was as confident and imperial as ever. However, he did not reply with some biting retort, a fact that did nothing to truncate the shame Ichigo felt. "I'd find it more appropriate if we kept the conversation on your personal life instead of mine."

Before any response could be made one way or another, the door opened with a purpose, making Ichigo look up to the narrowed malice filled brown eyes staring him down.

"Yo, pineapple," Ichigo greeted.

"Agent Abarai-san," Byakuya asked forcefully, "what exactly are you doing?"

Shortly, the agent responded, never taking his eyes off of Ichigo for a moment. "Relieving you. You've been interrogating him for three hours straight. You need a break."

"I informed you at the beginning, that I'd be the one handling the interrogation of Kurosaki Ichigo start from finish," Byakuya claimed. "That being said, leave us."

Smirking in ridicule at the other agent, Ichigo felt relieved for the distraction. This he could work with. "Three really is a crowd, bud."

Still never wavering his glare, Renji said, "I won't be doing that. I have every right to interrogate him."

"Renji-san do not question m-"

"I'm not your subordinate anymore, Byakuya-san," Renji interjected. "So you can't order me out of this room."

For a moment, Byakuya baffled at the show of dissidence from his usually so obedient partner.

Ichigo snorted humorously. "I'm not always that good at reading people, but man, you're an open book. Jealousy is pretty pathetic, dontcha think?"

A warning look was thrown at Ichigo before Byakuya stood up from his seat. "Renji, look at me." Though he wanted to protest, the agent did so. "It is not lost on me that I am no longer your superior. However, we both know your temper is not needed here. If you think logically instead of with a knee jerk reaction, you'd see how you'll get nowhere with this man. Especially as you are now."

Their eyes locked for a moment while Renji tried to form some justifiable reason that he should take Byakuya's post, but it was obvious he was wavering, losing some of that confidence granted by his temper. "Either way, you need a break."

"I'm perfectly capable of deeming when I need a break. I do not need _you_ deciding such things for me. Leave us. Now."

"Uh," Ichigo butted in, "If you two are having a lovers quarrel or something, I'm cool to sit here while ya'll go work it out."

"Shut your mouth, you little shit," Renji snapped.

Tongue in cheek, eye brows perked, Ichigo continued to get under the man's skin. He made it too easy, really. "Don't worry, red. I'm just playing with him, he's all yours when I'm done here."

"See," Byakuya pointed out, "all you're doing is giving him more ammunition. Have you been paying attention to nothing? I will not ask again, Renji-san. I may not be your superior, but I am heading this case. Don't think I won't remove you by force."

"Fine," Renji murmured before bulldozing out of from which he came.

With one composing breath, Byakuya returned to his seat. There was a threat in the harsh eyes he threw Ichigo, one that was not abided. "Man, poor guy." Ichigo chuckled. "Give him a bone, why don't ya."

"That is no concern of you-"

"Let me guess," Ichigo mused, "that watchdog is in love with you? It's not to hard to put together, the way he came thoughtlessly rushing to you the moment he figured I said something to hurt you." At the slightly averted eye's of Byakuya, Ichigo studied his carefully held expression. "You love him too, right? Just not in the same way."

Though he did not verbally agree, Byakuya's face said it all. "My relationship with Agent Renji-san is none of your concern. You know nothing of it," he bit back, his tone more tart than he attended.

"I know out of all the people I've heard you address since we got here, he's the only one you've addressed so informally." He tilted his head slightly. "Which isn't a big deal, but he's the only one you've gotten defensive over even a little bit. You're protective of him, but you also don't consider him your equal. That's easy enough to tell. No. He's like a brother or a child to you," Ichigo provoked, trying to yield some outburst from the man. "He's just a pup nipping at your heels." Ichigo scoffed. "I kind've feel sorry for the guy."

Letting out a forced shallow laugh of disdain, Byakuya said, "I doubt you know the meaning of the sentiment." He closed his eyes briefly before asking, "Do you enjoy messing with others emotions?"

Truthfully, Ichigo did not. This wasn't so much for his amusement as it was to get Byakuya under his thumb. If at all possible, he'd play the agent like a fiddle, use him as another pawn in his game. Just like Byakuya, he was only doing his job.

"Don't be a hypocrite, Byakuya. Your whole job is manipulating people's emotions."

The agent nodded. "You'd be correct. This is a skill I employ for interrogations. However, as you said, it is my job. If what you're saying is true, that you're not The Ghost, than you just do this for what exactly? Your own perverse kicks?"

"Or maybe I'm just hopping If I piss you off royally, you'll leave me alone and let me go."

Before he could respond, there was once again someone new entering the room. Yoruichi stood with file in hand and a weary look. "Did you get the results?" Byakuya asked, taking no time for greetings.

"Yeah." She nodded. "You wanna step outside and we can talk about them?"

Waffling his gaze between a rather chilled looking Ichigo and a rather troubled looking Yoruichi, Byakuya had a feeling he was not going to be happy with the outcome. "It's fine. Whatever it is, you can report it here."

She nodded once more before moving closer to the table to sit the file down in front of the man. "His alibi checked out and the hand writing analysis was a negative."

Byakuya wished he could say he was surprised, but sadly, he was not. Despite the fact that, if Ichigo was the ghost, his alibi should have _not_ checked out and his handwriting _should_ have been a match, he somehow knew it wouldn't be that simple. Still, he was steadfast in his belief that Ichigo was his perp. More so, this was just a test to gauge how good this man truly was. It was apparent that he was no armature. The alibi could be explained simply, but it was more so the handwriting that confounded him.

"At the establishment he gave us for his alibi, was his presence only confirmed by a worker or was there video evidence?"

"I checked the footage," Yoruichi informed, "and who was ever on that tape was rather him or looked a hell of a lot like him."

Byakuya looked almost visibly shocked, but tried to push it back. He looked to Ichigo, gauging only a slightly bored expression. "Very well."

As the words left his mouth, a rather piqued looking Ikkaku entered the room. "Agent Kuchiki," he exclaimed, "there's been another murder. They believe it's Ghost related."

He turned a quizzical eye towards Ichigo, who just gave a throaty chortle. "They do say good things come in three's."

"I believe the expression is bad things come in three's," Byakuya corrected.

"Bad for you, good for me," Ichigo suggested.

Clearing his mind of all the cluttered new intel that left him rattled and without a leg to stand on, the agent gave one more look to Ichigo before he stood to attention. "You're good, Kurosaki Ichigo. Nicely played."

"You're going to go check out the crime scene, right?" Ikkaku asked.

"Yes. I must," Byakuya said.

"What about him?" Yoruichi asked, tilting her head in Ichigo's direction.

He looked at Ichigo as if deciding what to do with him at this point. After a moment, he ordered, "Keibu ho Mandaram-san, please escort our guest back to his house."

Yoruichi looked baffled, but said nothing, knowing Byakuya had his reasons in which he'd explain on his own time.

Standing up, Ichigo stretched his bones and let out a content sigh. "I'm sad our dates over already, Byakuya," Ichigo deadpanned. "It was pretty fun."

"Oh, trust this will not be the last you see of me, Kurosaki Ichigo," he countered, stepping to stand directly in front of the man.

"I'm counting on it," Ichigo said rather suggestively.

"And I suppose I do not have to warn you against leaving the city?"

"Nah," Ichigo shook his head, leaning in closer to the man. "I'll be around. I tend to linger." His voice softened a hair as he looked deeply at the other man. "Just like a ghost."

Byakuya's nose flared at the flagrant connotation of Ichigo's words, which were met by that same arrogant smirk.

"Until next time." Ichigo stepped aside and began following behind Ikkaku, and the agent turned to watch him retreat. As Ichigo walked through the threshold, he did a quick little one eighty turn only to pull down the skin under his eye and stick his tongue out at the man - the same playful gesture the ghost gave to the camera the day before Byakuya started the case - never stopping the movement of his feet.

"Did you see that?" Byakuya asked, clenching his fist until his nails were digging into his palms. Focusing on the slight pain was successfully holding back his frustration.

"Oh yeah." Yoruichi chuckled. "He's a fun one."

"He is something, alright," Byakuya rebutted.

The sergeants face twisted into something rather confused. "But why not keep him the whole three days? Maybe you could have gotten something out of him."

"Perhaps, but I believe it would have been a waste of my time and energy. I can not move pieces until he moves pieces, and he had me backed into a corner," the agent admitted.

Walking into the interrogation room, Shinji gave the two an incredulous grin. "Well that was...interesting."

"Quite eye opening," Byakuya agreed. "Where is Agent Renji-san?"

The captain shook his head in a sort've chafed disbelief. "I made him take a walk. That monkey's energy was putting me on edged. Good thing I did too, with what Kurosaki was spewing about him. We might've had to lock him away if he heard that."

"I will speak to him about his lack of professionalism," Byakuya sighed

Shinji snorted. "Yeah, _talk._ I've never been more glad not to be Renji-san right about now."

"Wait." Yoruichi interrupted with a frown. "What happened with Big Red?

"Nothing that needs to be discussed," Byakuya dismissed. Turning his attention to Shinji, he asked, "What do you think about Kurosaki, Keibu Hirako-san?."

"Just as you predicted, he had a way to maneuver around all of your accusation and make himself seem innocent." He gave a thoughtful hum. "Usually, I would say that means we have the wrong guy..but.."

"He was practically flaunting his guilt in front of you, little tease," Yoruichi exclaimed. "We also know that this team behind him his legit, so there's all kinds of ways they could have fixed the outcome of this."

"Then why?" Shinji asked. "Why wouldn't he just play up the innocent card? That way, when his alibi cleared and his handwriting didn't match, we would've been more inclined to drop him as a suspect."

"Because," Byakuya explained, "he knew I wouldn't buy his innocent act for a moment. It's a cardinal rule of lying. You want to tell as much of the truth as possible, and trying to keep up the farce of being an innocent doe eyed young man would have been too strenuous in the end. He knew there was no way of invading my suspension, so he's playing into it." He closed his eyes pensively while bringing a cigarette to his needy lips. "Perhaps he thinks he can somehow use it against me. I would not put that thought process past him."

"Use you how?" Shinji baffled, taking out a cigarette of his own.

"That I'm unsure of. It is anyone's guess what that fanatical child has running through his head."

Shinji grinned around his filter. "I never thought I'd see the day an ocean thousand, mountain thousand man as yourself would have such a run for your money."

"This is merely one battle out of many. A battle of which I already deemed I'd more than likely lose. Yet this won't be easily won. We're both equally tenacious and have things to lose."

"What do you have to lose?" Yoruichi asked. "Well, except that perfect record of yours."

"Simple, my pride." Exhaling a mound of smoke, he pressed the nub into the ash tray. He was feeling some tingling combination of drained and hunt ready.

"Well how do you want to proceed, boss?" Shinji asked.

After a moment of contemplation, Byakuya said, "Kurosaki is our number one suspect and we'll proceed as such. I want files on all of his known acquaintances and those of his father's also. We'll look for possible accomplices within these, question his known friends and family. I also will want around the clock surveillance on him. This will be handled by Yoruichi-san, Renji-san, and myself, since we have the most stealth experience."

Briefly, Shinji looked as if he wanted to question something, but bit his tongue. "If that's what you think is best."

"Alright," Yoruichi said, rubbing her hands together enthusiastically. "Good old fashion steak out time. I need to stock up on snakes."

Byakuya rolled his eyes marginally. "Yes, because everyone knows the first rule of stealth is crunching down on bags of Nori Shio."

"I'm more of a Shoyu Mayo girl myself," she quipped.

"Welp, the faster we get to that crime scene, the quicker I can delegate all this to the task force," Shinji said, taking the initiative to start towards the door.

"Right." Byakuya nodded. "What are the circumstances behind these deaths?"

Walking out of the enclave with the other two at his side, Shinji said, "Oh, you're not going to believe this shit."

 **xXx**

 **AN:Shout out to my madra for being forever weird. She always told me that a perfect method for serial killers to get away with murder is shooting random skydivers from far off distances. Since she's amazing and always supports my writing, I had to add this in for her.**

 **Siwon611: Thank you for your support, love. I hope you enjoyed their back and forth in this chapter.**

 **clarit: Yeah, a lot happened really quickly last chapter, but things will kind've slow back down again from this point on. I'm really happy you like Ichigo! I want him to be likable in some ways because he's certainly going to be hatable in some ways. lol. Though I've always found Ichigo to be naturally snarky, his humor in this also partially a copping mechanism. That's really common, especially for people who can't handle their emotions or have completely distanced themselves from them. This plot get's so deep, let's just say, Byakuya should have listened to papa Kuchiki a little more closely. Alas, he is stubborn and stuck in his ways, but maybe Ichigo will help him out with that. ;) As of right now, he's still repressing the worst part of the memory, but trust that it won't stay that way. It'll be a heart clutched. Tissues will be advised. Thank you as always for taking your time to review!**

 **MsMJ : Yay, thank you for your support! I hope you like the relationship I'm building between these two cuties. Cheers.**


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Hey guys! I wish I could give you some good reason to why it's taken me so long to come out with a new chapter, but alas, all I have is that I have so many stories I'm writing that I got caught up. I was pretty excited to get this out, so I probably didn't edit it as well as I should have. I only read through it once.

Any way, here you go!

 **In the Lion's Dean**

 **xXx**

"What the hell are we doing here, kid?" Junsa Bucho Muguruma Kensei grunted in displeasure, coughing vigorously as Hisagi Shuhei shifted through dust varnished archives. "When's the last time they fucking cleaned this damn place?"

Hisagi ran a hovering finger over the spines of chronically organized newspaper archives until coming to the right one. Gaping in mild excitement, he pulled the hefty volume labeled ' _1987: rokugatsu'_ from the shelf, dispersing some more dust as he did so. "Well it is the athenaeum of all Wako's published newspapers, so it probably doesn't get a lot of use," he noted, dropping the book on a table, making a banging sound resonate through the timeworn vault ceilings. "Heh, great acoustics in here. This be an awesome place to practice with my band," he remarked, flipping through laminated pages of sparsely crinkled, yellow-tinted newspapers.

Kensei scowled and inclined his head to take note of the fresco style painting, that depicted life during the Edo period, canvassing the ceilings. Running his eyes down the dimly lighted enclosure and it's rows of rickety bookshelves, he huffed in annoyance. "You call this place a library, I call it a crypt. This place gives me the creeps," he complained as he walked into an unseen spider web, causing him to flail in his normal bellicose nature. "GOD DAMNIT!"

Tilting his head up from his searching, the brunette spared his partner a patient yet amused smile. "This is the place where news goes to die," he poised, "so you wouldn't be so wrong in your description." Turning a concentrated glare back to the pages, he returned to his task, barely noting his partners presence looming beside him.

"Shouldn't all of this be digital by now anyway?" Kensei scoffed, crossing his arms against his strapping chest.

"Probably, but for whatever reason, Wako's a bit behind on that stuff," he responded impassively, still flipping through pages. "I like it this way though. Something is just more authentic about rummaging through quite libraries and the feel of paper. I always thought, if I wasn't a cop, I'd be a journalist or something."

"It's because you're more of the investigation type cop than the brute force type cop." Somewhat softer, Kensei stated, "You'll be a detective one day, for sure."

Letting his fingers brush over those of Kensei, Hisagi flushed but looked into the field officers eyes with a considerably more affectionate look than his face usually wore. "Only because of everything you've taught me."

Running his tongue over parted lips, Kensei banished the lewdly unprofessional thoughts that ran through his head before clearing his throat and nodding towards the opened book. "What exactly are you looking for?" he asked.

"What I'm looking for are articles on the botany facility," he explained, slowly flipping each page, making sure one was not stuck to another. "What I'm hoping to find in those articles," he sighed, "I'm not sure."

Netting his brow, Kensei asked, "What? You didn't believe those suits and ties then?"

Idling his hands, Hisagi looked aimlessly into the ink stained parchment, thinking back to just an hour early. The pair had questioned the research head whom was in charge of operations at the now abandoned botany facility. He was a cooperative man whom seemed friendly enough, but friendly doesn't always mean truthful. He spoke with an appropriate amount of mournfulness about the events that lead to the facilities expiry. An airborne toxin was excreted from one of the plant organisms the researchers had been analysing. Having no way to combat the unknown poison, those affected perished, which had been every member of the team except for the research head, who conveniently had been out of the lab on that particular day. Giving vague explanations and only offering open - ended statements, the research, though amicable, seemed more than ready to be out of the company of the investigators. Everything he said seemed pre concocted, as if he'd been vetted scrupulously in the case of such a situation arising and was merely plucking acceptable answers from a cheat sheet he'd been given. It became so text book that his performance lost it's authentic feel, like an actor who became a victim of their own insecurity by constantly stealing awkward glances at the camera.

Whatever the reason, Hisagi picked up duplicitous vibes from the man's all to forced demeanor.

"I don't know. I just think their not telling us the whole truth."

"But they provided us with a list of all the employees on their payroll and corresponding files on the people who died in the toxic event. All of the people on the list were confirmed as deceased," Kensei pointed out, scowling in an inquisitive manner

"I know," Hisagi sighed, "but It just doesn't feel right. Everyone died? It seems a little far fetch. Besides, we can't give up this lead."

Shoving the man roughly, Kensei bellowed, "I didn't say shit about giving up, I'm just trying to understand your thought process. Besides," he huffed, grimacing at the memory, "that dude gave me the creeps."

"I think everything gives you the creeps," Hisagi scoffed humorously. Finding the article he was looking for, the officer scanned it quickly before slumping his shoulders in disappointment. "I found the editorial they ran about the factories termination, but there's nothing in here we don't already know."

Kensei had a number of different scowls in his reservoir, each with varying meanings. The analytical waffling of his eyes and the way he ever so slightly chewed on his lip, Hisagi knew this was his pensive scowl. "What about their opening? Maybe there was a ribbon cutting ceremony and someone wrote an article about it."

Gaping with zeal, Hisagi exclaimed, "You're brilliant!" before landing a quick and sloppy kiss on his partners cheek and rushing back to the aisle with a new mission in mind.

"Pfh, yeah, I mean," Kensei sputtered, lighting up like a christmas tress, "of course I am, is this news to ya'?"

Hauling a new volume over to the table, he flopped it down like a bag of bricks and began his frantic single minded search. After about five minutes of high velocity flipping, Hisagi halted, narrowing his brow in scrutiny. "Here it is," he sang, prompting Kensei to look over his shoulder at a splotchy photo printer under a big, bold headline reading: ' _Wako facility to undergo revolutionary botany research.'_

Scrunching his eyes and bending down, Hisagi looked back and forth between the list of employees and the microscopic names located underneath a picture of the botany facilitie's research team. Suddenly, and with great dither, the man jumped back and casted a finger over one of the depicted researchers. "There!" he exclaimed, "he's not on the list of employees or the list of the dead!"

"I knew those bastards were lying about something," Kensei barked, nudging his partner slightly to have a better look. "Kurotsuchi Mayuri," he muttered under his breath, the words still seeming to fill the room and bounce off the stained glass windows. "Who's he?"

"I don't know," Hisagi responded, urgently plucking the article from it's laminate casing, rolling it up, and stashing it within his blazer, "but we're going to find out."

With his hand capture and his body being pulled towards the exit, Kensei's asked, "Is it weird I found that really hot?"

 **xXx**

As Ichigo entered the first floor of his family's estate, the dojo, he did some quick sprucing, putting aways items from his last class that were still strawn on account of his impromptu visitors.

He felt numb, almost weightless, as he moved from floor to floor. Surely he should feel something more about his circumstances. Danger was lurking around each corner, surrounding him, standing at his doorstep with sharp grey eyes and the nose of a bloodhound already picking up Ichigo's aroma, and here Ichigo was, his temperament bordering on alarmingly aloof. None the less, emotions such as panik would be useless, if not reckless, and only hamper the cool and analytical mind set he needed to trump Byakuya Kuchiki.

When he entered the third floor, the living quarters of the estate, Ichigo almost instinctively called out for the Shiba's before remembering what Ikkaku had told him on their way back. Uryu, Kukaku, and Ganju had been taking in for questioning, and it was anyone's guess when they'd be released. Maybe he should feel guilt of some sort, but there was none to be found. This was always a possibility, and he had tried to keep them as uninvolved as possible, but it was all three's fervent assertion that they could handle themselves and the consequences.

Still, if it came down to it, Ichigo had every intention of taking the blame solely on himself. Now he only hoped the three could wait out this thorny investigation.

Making his way to the bathroom, Ichigo walked to his sink and turned on the water to a frigid temperature before splashing a palm full on his face. Looking up at the mirror, watching the droplets cascade down his blanched skin, he felt as blank as the walls that surrounded him. With scrutiny, he observed his features, tilting his head from side to side. Some people said he looked like his father. He supposed they were right, especially now that his countenance had ripened. There was no one feature that he could say looked pointedly aged. Perhaps it was just that his weary, jaded soul reflected on his face. Severity stung eyes that were deep seated with a crucial single mindedness altered him. The older he looked, the more he resembled his father, and the harder it became to look at himself. He often wondered if his father would be proud of the man he became, but the shame that would hit him like a fist to the gut everytime he saw his father's reflection looking back at him left little debate over what he would feel about his often heartless offspring's - the only successor to his lineage - path in life.

Latently, in the deepest parts of him that housed his old self - if even a remnant remained - Ichigo knew his father would've rather him taken a path that led to some semblance of a normal life. A happy life filled with kids and soccer games, home cooked meals and peaceful rest, one not ravaged by decay and bloodshed, that's what he would've wanted for his son. But Ichigo didn't even know where that path lie or how one got to it, and surely, he'd traveled to far to ever find his way back. Besides, the trail he had chosen was the only one that made sense to him, the one of which the ghost of his family lived. If he abandoned this track, he would be abandoning the last part of them he had left.

His thoughts seemed to stay with Byakuya and the throttling guilt he felt at prodding the most festered wound the agent's soul housed. The pain struck his face like a lighting bolt, boldly yet in a flash, beautiful in the destruction it held. It was easy to ascertain the source of his remorse. While he was trying to put Ichigo away, he was not the bad guy here. In fact, Ichigo was sure if this story had a valiant hero, it was him. Byakuya was tenaciously resolute in his ideals, ready to be a martyr and take on great pain if it meant doing what he believed to be just. In many ways, he was just like Ichigo, ready to fight tooth and nail to cleanse the world of malicious forces, even if his whole foundation was at gamble.

Byakuya was loyal and prideful and did not bend for any man, no matter how wicked they might be. He had a core molded by the sorrow he had experienced. He had loved and lost, and despite the logical, unfeeling veneer he wore, he felt deeply and only wanted to experience life at it's greatest magnitude. And when he lost it all, the person he loved more than anyone, he courageously walked forward, never letting it veer him from the path he had chosen despite the way it shook his constitution.

In that regard, he wasn't like Ichigo. He cherished the people in his life, but he'd sacrifice everything that brought him happiness if it was for what he found righteous. He'd give towards the greater good until his cup was deplinished. Ichigo couldn't help but find reverence in that, and even though he believed the man to be a bit ethically one sided, if the circumstances were different, the two may have been able to be friends, if not more, at best. Or at worst, they could've had mutual understandings.

For whatever the reason, Ichigo deplored provoking woeful memories and digging into the agent's insecurities. Even more so, he deplored knowing he'd have to do it over and over again.

 **xXx**

 **Two Days Later.**

"Kurosaki Ichigo?" Mizuiro echoed, popping the top of his soda can. "That's a name I haven't heard in awhile." Humming, he tilted his head and waved over a passing by officer. "Kiego-san, come here." Looking back up to the two officers, he explained, "We were the closest to Kurosaki-san while he worked for our division."

Byakuya simply nodded as a wiry, shaggy headed man sprang over boisterously, slinging an arm around his fellow officer. "Morning Mizuiro-san! Did you see Endo-san today? I think she winked at meee… uh." Keigo's friendly patter dropped off as he saw the humourless face of agent Kuchiki appraising him, and his partner lighting a cigarette while looking rather bored. "Who are these guys," he whispered, though plenty loud enough for the others to hear.

With a calming smile, Mizuiro introduced the two. "This is Agent Kuchiki-san and Agent Abarai-san."

"A-Agent Kuchiki-san?" he sputtered, blanching at the sight. "You're The Great White!" he bowed respectively, bellowing, "I-I, well, you're a legend!"

Scoffing, Renji muttered, "What am I, chopped liver?"

"Ignore my friend here," the raven haired officer explained amicably, "He's a little star stuck, maybe I should answer your questions."

Sighing, Byakuya ignored the outburst and restated his early question. "As I was saying, I'm here to ask you a few questions about Kurosaki Ichigo. We are questioning all of his know acquaintances."

"Ichigo!" Keigo bellowed, his head springing up with purpose. "Do you know where he is!? Is he okay?!"

Cutting his hot headed friend off, Mizuiro took the liberty of asking, "If you don't mind, Agent Kuchiki-san, could we know what this is about? Ichigo-san went missing over a year ago and no one from the squads heard from him since."

"I'm heading a task force that's investigating The Ghost," he explained vaguely, keeping his answers brief, "and we believe Kurosaki Ichigo could have valuable information."

"So he is alive?" Keigo asked.

"All I can divulge is that we are attempting to find out what happened to your comrade," he said, curbing his annoyance.

Seeing the trepidation in both men's eyes, Renji smiled and comforted, "Don't worry guys, if all this pans out, you'll know for sure what happened to your friend.

Mentally, Byakuya thanked Renji for always obtaining the patience and gentle touch that allowed him to deal with witnesses that Byakuya was otherwise too curtly to handle.

"Sure," Mizuiro said, a dubious glare still potent in his eyes, "what do you want to ask us?"

"Mostly we'd just like to know the type of person he was," Byakuya clarified, "how was he received amongst his comrades?"

The pair looked at each in question, and as if both came up with the same answer, they shared a nostalgic grin. "Ichigo-san was a great guy!" Mizuiro exclaimed.

"Yeah, and that scowl he wore didn't fool anybody," the brunette exalted, verifying his friends words.

"He could be a little grumpy and snarky, but it was apart of his charm. Everyone really liked him."

"Oh yeah?" Renji prompted, "and what was it they liked?"

"He always had this aloof way about him, but that was just on the surface. He was still always friendly," Mizuiro remnesed. "Easy guy to hang out with. Hotheaded, but passionate."

"Even the teens who were acting up on the streets," Keigo detailed. "He's the only reason some of those kids we busted stop doing shaba. He was also really loyal a-"

"And he always stood up for what was right," Mizuiro finished the thought, "could never sit around and watch something unjust happen. He always acted like he didn't care, but it was obvious he did."

"Man was mad protective of his squad too," Keigo hyped. "He even took a bullet from me once!"

Mizuiro confirmed the story with a nod. "And he didn't even like Keigo-san that much."

"Yeah uh- WAIT A SECOND," he bellowed in his smirking friends direction.

"I see," Byakuya noted, wafting an rather uninterested glare between the two. "You were both good friends with him, yes? Do you know if he had any intimate relationships, someone who he may have confided in if he did leave of his own accord?"

After once again sharing a careful look with his fellow officer, Mizuiro asked, "When you say intimate, you mean to ask if he was dating someone?"

Nodding, Byakuya clarified, "Yes, something along these terms. Or anyone who he would have felt close enough with to trust with such a thing."

Trying and failing to be discreet, Keigo put up a vertical hand to his mouth and asked, "Should we mention the - you know - what I saw?"

Closing his green eyes and shaking his head in disappointment, the raven haired officer asked rhetorically, "Do you even know the meaning of whispering?" Candidly, he addressed the agent, "Honestly, we don't know. Ichigo-san was really private about those sort of things. Actually, he was the bashful type and always got really embarrassed at the mention of anything lewd."

Imagining that cheeky, unabashed flirt he encountered in interrogation room as a bumbling, red faced upstart was almost enough to make the seasoned agent chuckle. The differences were too much to fathom, humorously so.

"But we kind of had the impression he wasn't really into girls," Mizuiro continued.

"Impression!?" Keigo bellowed incredulously. "More like I saw him kissing another dude on his doorstep a few days before he fell off the map. Somehow I don't think he was helping him get something out of his teeth."

"Do you recall a description on this guy?"

"Nah, it was dark, and honestly, it was all a little too weird. Ya know, just standing there finding out my friends was," he rubbed his head awkwardly, "..well..ya know. Especially since he never told us."

"It made sense though," Mizuiro speculated, "he probably didn't want anyone to know, seeing how homophobic most people are."

With a knowing huff, Byakuya flipped through his folder and marked something before noting impassively, "Yes, I know all about that. Is there anyone else you can think of?"

"Hm," Mizuiro contemplated, "well there is one person Ichigo-san may have confided in if he was trying to get away. I don't know his real name though, Ichigo-san always called him geta-boshi. Apparently he was like an uncle, and he moved out of the country a while back."

The agent marked the information down in a note pad and nodded towards the two. "Arigatou," he thanked, "If we have any more questions, we will follow up."

As the two walked away, Renji poised, "Geta-boshi? Do you think that'll lead us anywhere."

"I'm not sure," Byakuya recanted, humming thoughtfully. "If he lives in another country, then it's hard to believe that this is who Kurosaki Ichigo went to. However, I won't dismiss any possibilities. We'll keep it in mind."

"Yeah, we'll see." Renji opened the passenger side door to the squad car before huffing in agitation. "Well I'll drop you off at the department and take the car, it's my turn to baby sit the brat."

"He may be a brat, but certainly no baby, Renji-san. Be weary," he warned.

"Yeah." He smirked. "I'm just glad I don't have the night shift with this kid. That's your trouble."

 **xXx**

Under the encumbrance of nightfall, the agent implicated some stealth. He'd parked his squad car a few blocks aways and made the painless walk towards the Kurosaki estate before finding himself wedged between two buildings, furtively watching the three story flat with an anticipatory quietness.

Without movement, this espionage would be for nothing. If Kurosaki spotted them, it would also be for nothing. He needed activity from the criminal, because without a crime committed, there was nothing to catch.

Though the agent couldn't help but to feel a bit wet behind the ears as he stood amongst the rank smell of disposed soba noodles, sensitive to every clatter caused by a rummaging rodent. He felt backed into a corner - or into an ally, if you want to be more precise. No one had ever made him feel as if he were grasping at straws, doing anything just to yield _something._ Never had he felt so ineffective.

There were two things he knew for certain about Ichigo: he was too smart to move haphazardly and knew without doubt that he was being monitored, and secondly, he knew Ichigo would not simply sit idle. His mission, it was like a bad vice, he knew it would kill him eventually, but it gave his life some feeling of meaning, filled the emptiness, so he would gladly let it undo him.

Him and Byakuya were the same in this regard.

Knowing this, Byakuya wasn't sure which one of them was the mouse and which one the cat in this little game of theirs. Eventually, Ichigo would have to come out of hiding, but he wouldn't do it if he directly risked getting captured, and for this reason, Byakuya didn't feel like the pounce ready cat situated by a hole in the wall. This mouse was too smart, most likely with exit strategies and backup plans galore. Ichigo was always ready, and there was always a way around the traps set for him. There was iron-calde vindication in the nickname he'd been bestowed with.

The agent heard a ruckus coming from the sidewalk, prompting him to carefully step out into a shadow. That's when he saw two children, a young girl who looked barely seven wearing baggy pants and an oversized toboggan, twisting her fingers anxiously as she watched a slightly older boy desecrate a memorial left for the memory of two kids.

The young child's labored breaths could be seen with each kick, lit up by the chilly night air. His cheeks were ruddy and puffed up, his fist clenched in a hostile manner, and he muttered out profanities

Their clothes were ragged and their skin was smudged with dirt, and Byakuya felt compelled to ask where their parents were, but he couldn't risk exposing himself. That's when he heard the front door of the Kurosaki estate open and looked up to see Ichigo walking over to the children with a purpose. His scowl was highlighted by the iridescent vibrations of streetlights as he strode over to the young children.

"Nii-san," the girl cried, "please stop."

"Shut up, Nara," the boy scowled, hopping up and down on the already decimated vigil only to be jolted by a thump to the head.

Fist ready to swing, he turned around to see the disapproving glower of Ichigo. "Hey, Geki, it's not nice to talk to your sister like that, and it especially isn't nice to destroy this memorial." His scowl deepened. "What the hells is wrong with you?"

Ichigo's scowl was met by an even more impenetrable one as the pugnacious child pulled back his fist to throw it. "I'll do whatever I wanna' do," he yelled.

Ichigo put his palm over the kid's forehead and held him at an arm's distance. As he watched the young boys fruitless and slightly embarrassing attempts to land a hit, he sighed.

The kid squirmed as he flailed his arms widely, a weak albeit scrappy attempt. Ichigo couldn't help the mocking chuckled and roll of the eyes he gave as the boy groused and grumbled.

When he stopped his assault to take a breath, Ichigo took a step back and the boy almost fell face first as a result. After maintaining his balance, he growled up to Ichigo, who was standing arms crossed and doned with a look similar to parental disapproval. Ichigo eyed the feisty upstart for a moment, and though he already knew the answer, he asked, "Where's your parents, kid? You two are too young to be out this late, and I'm sure they wouldn't like knowing what their sons up to."

The boys glare faltered and he steps back defensively, still retaining those fight read first. "Come on, Nara. Let's go home to Haha.

Nara looked confused, but nodded hesitantly. With one move, Ichigo inserted himself between the two. "I'll walk you," he offered, "I have some words to say to the parents that let their little kids roam around this late at night."

The boy bit his lip at that and looked visibly stumped, backing away like a frightened animal.

"You know, you're a bad liar, kid." Ichigo's whole demeanor softened a bit. "You don't have parents, do you?"

The boy's mouth grappled pitifully before he once again returned to scowling. "I-I- Yeah, I have parents. I just don't need them, okay? Now shut up before I beat your face in." Waving his sister on, he commanded, "Come on, Nara."

He spun around, but found his steps thwarted by a hand grabbing his hood. "Let me go!"

"Your sister looks pale and you both look like you haven't eaten in days," Ichigo observed, spinning the kid around. "We'll worry about your non existent parents later. First let's put some food in that big mouth of yours."

"I DO HAVE PARENTS!" the boy urged and pushed Ichigo away. He looked up with frantic, tear-stung eyes. "They just don't want us! I'm a throw away kid! I'm just a piece of trash to them, so I take care of myself."

Byakuya thought the name sounded familiar. After a moment, the meaning came back to him. Throw away children were children given to orphanages by parents who could not afford them, but could never be adopted because the parents never signed away their rights, fearing the social stigma that came with such a choose. So the children were stuck in limbo, perpetually locked in an abusive and lackluster system with no love and little means of escape. These children were probably runaways.

Ichigo gave him a measured look, almost sure the boy would run away at the slightest move. "Is that why you're destroying that vigil?"

"Why should they have parents who care about them and bring them flowers everyday! I don't! My sister doesn't! And we're alive.." he growled lowly, "it's just not fair.."

"Kid, didn't you just hear what you said?" The young boy gave the man a prompting glare. "You're alive. These kids, they're never coming back. All they have now is memories and flowers, but eventually that'll fade. You have the chance to do whatever you want, wasting that is selfish."

"I am not!" the boy denounced.

"Oh yeah? Look at your sister and how scared she is." Ichigo pointed to the little girl who anxiously clutched the seam of her dress. "You two have each other to live for, and you're wasting your time stomping on flowers."

"Don't be mad at Nii-san," the girl stammered, "He is just worried because I am sick, and there is nothing we can do about it."

Ichigo let loose a contemplative sigh as he took a knee. "Look kid, I have a clinic and a doctor friend. I also have a dojo where I can teach how to really fight. It'll be a lot more effective than those weak punches you were throwing."

"My punches were not weak!" the boy pouted.

"If you let me, I can help you and your sister." Ichigo paused and gave a meaningful look towards the ally of which Byakuya stood concealed. "I know some people who could help you."

Shivering and panting, the boy looked almost tempted before he said, "I don't trust you.."

"I get that," Ichigo sighed, "but you care about your sister, right?"

"..yeah.."

"Then you don't have many choices but to trust me. The most important thing is making sure she gets medical care," Ichigo rationalized.

The boy looked intensely at his balled up fist, gradually loosening their grip as he asked, "Will you really teach me how to fight?"

"Yeah," Ichigo confirmed with a rare smile, "but only if you promise to never fight for yourself. If you fight, you fight for the right reasons, to protect people."

"...Yeah, I guess I can do that," the boy muttered, dipping his head.

He jolted when Ichigo ruffled his hair affectionately. "Alright, you and your sister go over to my clinic." He pointed across the street. "Walk up to the second story and find a weird looking lady with a pipe. Tell her I sent you, okay?"

The boy only nodded before walking over to his sister and intertwining their fingers. Ichigo watched as the two walked hand and hand across the asphalt and into the Kurosaki estate.

"You can come out of hiding now, Byakuya." Ichigo smirked and his whole tone morphed into something more sly, more dangerous.

The agent stifled a groan, but found his feet moving forward. He wished he could say he was shocked, but that would be a lie.

Their eyes lock, nothing but shadows in between them. The air was dense, stifling, and Byakuya has to stop himself from loosening the nose of his tie.

He almost asked how Ichigo knew he was there, but he yielded. The agent already knew. So he waited and allowed for Ichigo to make the first move.

"I think you guys forget I was military and a cop too, so if you're trying to be stealthy, you should try a little harder." Byakuya said nothing, and Ichigo's grin inflated to suit his ego. "Aren't stake outs a little below your pay grade, Agent?"

The agent cleared his throat as he found his normal rancor to be revived. "Perhaps, but when something is this important, I like to deal with it with my own two hands. I'm sure you can understand that, Kurosaki Ichigo."

Ichigo nipped at his lip in an almost calculating manner. His looks were aided by a hint of sensual intrigue. "You want to handle me with your own two hands?" He perked an eyebrow. "The feelings mutual."

Brown eyes burrowed into the agent with a heat, and Byakuya was sure they intended to mock him. He wouldn't allow his lacking confidence to show, not for the briefest of moments. "You do realize that harboring runaway children is a crime, yes?"

With his wrist touching and upright, Ichigo outstretched them. "Then arrest me, Agent," he taunted, poking at every nerve Byakuya had.

Face steady and hard, Byakuya did not rise to the prodding. "That's right, you won't," Ichigo asserted as he walked over to the mound of shatter materials scattered across the sidewalk. He bent down, and from the remnants of a broken picture frame, he picked up a photo and shook off the shards of glass. "Because then, you couldn't stock me from the veil of alleyways."

The agent saw the just barely discernible faces of the children captured in the five inch by six inch piece of laminate right before Ichigo pocketed the picture. Two girls, young and gleaming under the harsh yellow spot light of a street lamp.

"This vigil is for your sisters," Byakuya proclaimed.

"Nothing gets by you, does it, Byakuya?"

"Then why would you show those children sympathy?"

Ichigo netted his brows at the question. "Wouldn't you have?"

"I did not say I wouldn't, but that was not my question," Byakuya pressed, "I asked why you did it."

Ichigo paused pensively and looked off in the direction of which the children retreated. "Kid's like that, they're bound to end up in gangs one day. They feel like the world is destroying them, so they feel like destroying the world back. Yakuza members eat at their types." He looked back to the plucked petals stained with foot prints. "What's being angry going to do for that kid?"

"So you hope to save him before you are duty bound to kill him, is that right?" Byakuya pondered.

"The Ghost doesn't kill regular old street thugs," Ichigo scoffed. "You should know that, Byakuya."

"Yes," the agent agreed, "but these men that The Ghost kill - excuse me, that _you_ kill - they were all once street thugs, scared and angry children who felt the cold shoulder of the world."

Ichigo's eyes swirled, and for a fugacious moment, he was rendered without words. "If someone get's to that point, there's really nothing left to save. Everyone has their point of no return."

"Yes, but I believe that point to be death." He bestowed the other with a deliberate look. "I'm sure you disagree."

Ichigo smirked aloofly. "I don't really think on it one way or another."

After Ichigo took a few steps towards the haven of his home, he halted and looked over his shoulder. "Why don't you come in, Byakuya, let me make you a drink?"

Those words so obviously held a challenge that Byakuya's inner huntsman wouldn't allow him to ignore. He was itching for action, fidgety to take down his prey. Enough to recklessly step within the dean of this equally as tenacious predator.

Byakuya would not be underestimated while playing a game he created, and he most certainly wouldn't back down. With no words, the agent walked beside the man who grinned impishly.

The short stride was not long enough to gather his thoughts, but it donned on the agent that this wasn't the type of decision one prepared for, but more so, one driven by a primordial instinct. He couldn't say for sure what he was doing, but his gut was a compass in these times of uncertainty.

The two walked through the empty dojo in silence only to emerge in a spacious loft area located in the back of the first floor. The expansive room was minimalist but well kept and housed only one singular picture frame. It was a family portrait of the two girls, Isshin, his wife, and Ichigo. It felt lonely and isolated, much like the last surviving Kurosaki did.

Ichigo promptly went to the kitchen area and pulled out two glasses, filling them with ice. "I do not drink whiskey on the rocks," Byakuya corrected haughtily.

"Fancy," Ichigo snorted as he poured ice into the sink.

The agent ambled around the room gradually. Every step on his inquisitive strut was scrutinized by Ichigo's following gaze. "Nothing worth experiencing should be experienced watered down." He turned and returned that unyielding glare. "I like to savor the raw properties of things I partake in. The bare truth and the full fledged, this is the way I attempt to see all things."

Ichigo gave an airy chuckle as he pressed the rim of the glass to his lips. "I somehow don't think we're talking about whiskey anymore." Walking over, he extended the glass to the agent.

Byakuya took it, wearily so. In doing such, he felt akin to accepting a dinner date with Hannibal Lector.

"It's not poisoned or anything," said Ichigo

"I know this is your specialty," Byakuya said, "but I also know you're much to intelligent to kill me." Taking a sip of the liquor, he mused, "Or perhaps not intelligent enough."

Ichigo chuckled and moved over to the couch. "You're interesting, Byakuya."

Byakuya took a seat also, making sure to keep just enough space between the two. "And you're a murder, but neither of these facts have much to do with why you invited me in."

Ichigo sat his glass down on a coffee table and arched his body more towards the agent. "Have you considered that maybe I'm not?" Ichigo asked. "If you're so convinced it's me, you could miss a real lead."

The agent crossed his legs with graceful decorum and balanced his glass on his thigh. "If you are trying to convince me of your innocence, you have picked an odd moment to do so. Perhaps you should worry more of your own steps and less of mine."

"Disliking the cops and having a cheeky attitude doesn't mean I'm a murder," reasoned Ichigo.

"That may be so," Byakuya agreed, "but this right here," he lowered his gravely voice, imbuing sincerity, "this game you're playing, inviting me here, no one would involve themselves without just cause. For a non killer, you're playing the murder game well."

Ichigo's lips vibrated humorously against his glass as he took another swallow of the burning liquid. "People play games for fun," he whispered and leaned in closer, seeing just how intimate he could get before the agent pulled away. "It's like you said, Byakuya. I barely have a life these days. Maybe I'm just bored, and I find you interesting." Grinning, he tested those limits a bit more and pushed forward towards a sill unmoved Byakuya. "When a pretty guy like you gives me all this attention, I can't help but enjoy it a little." Ichigo licked his lips at the very real lust that surged through him. "Maybe I invited you up because I like you."

Byakuya chuckled dryly at that, his eyes crinkling endearingly as he did so. "You like the man who is pursuing you for murder?"

Bewitched by the silver storm raging in those expressive eyes, Ichigo leaned in even closer, their lips one haphazard motion away from joining. "I said I wasn't a killer," Ichigo smirked, "I never said I wasn't a little crazy."

The agent swallowed hard at the tepid breath tingling his lips, cutting off his air supply. "Sadistic is more like it," Byakuya offered, his eyes locked in this game of wills against the other.

"I think you want it to be me," Ichigo speculated, withholding those last few taunting inches, "because you want to possess me." Once more, he moved forward so their lips just barely brushed. Yet Byakuya never broke the contact, never pulled away. "It gives you an outlet for this obsession. Not for me, but for The Ghost. You want him," Ichigo accused breathlessly, situated so, so very close, "and you like the idea of me being attached to this faceless man. I don't disappoint your expectations."

Unable to hold back this slow crawl of passion, Ichigo moved forward, but found his chin caught by Byakuya's gentle grasp. The agent leaned in to his ear and pressed a spine tingling grin against Ichigo's lob. "On the contrary, that is exactly what you have done. To think I would be so easily coerced by a few sexualized phrases and a sad attempt at flirting, I would have expected better from you."

The agent released the man's chin and stood swiftly. "Truly disappointing," he uttered.

Ichigo gave a twisted grin as he stood also. "Man, you really are obsessed with this guy," Ichigo observed, causing Byakuya to turn back towards him. "Like I said, I was just coming on to you. No weird hidden agenda included." In mockery, Ichigo shook his head. "I mean, I get. He's only been around a year, and he's taken out men you've only dreamed of touching, I'm sure." He stepped closer and folded his arms as he matched the severity of Byakuya's glare. "He must make you feel so inferior, envious. Who could blame you for wanting to dominate him so much?"

Byakuya, ridged and searing, let out a controlled breath. The hidden truths in Ichigo's words played viciously at his mind. "Perhaps his wins are appealing to me," he countered bluntly, "but the price of which he obtains these victory, I could never envy something like that. If anything, I pity The Ghost, because that is all he is, not even a human." Byakuya watched as all amusement dwindled from Ichigo's honey eyes, and he reveled in it. Such great joy he derived from making this man feel, feel anything at all, even if that feelings was hurt.

Ichigo's smirk stayed anchored, but, if only for a breath, there was something in those eyes, some vestige of emotion that desperately tried to emerge from the depths of the killer's soul.

"Maybe if The Ghost really was a human, that comment might actually hurt him," Ichigo rasped, his body all of a sudden feeling weaker.

Byakuya gave the man a farewell smirk. He had won this battle, of that he was sure. "I believe I can show myself out."

Ichigo was motionless, trying to make sense of these amorphic _feelings_ that rattled him. Most of the time, his emotional spectrum was like the constant, changeless hum of a flat line. A ceaseless note that signaled an absolute nothingness, a dearth of life, that was Ichigo. However, around the agent, he was static on a radio. He was a weak connection, a flow of scrambled absurdities that became insufferable ringing in your ears. Words that were just almost coherent would be picked up now and again, but nothing could be made of them.

It was something shaped like interest and textured like shame, but Ichigo just couldn't gain a clean grasp. The only substance he could discern was, for a moment, he cared about what Byakuya thought of him.

 **xXx**

 **Korazan: Your comment is very flattering. Thank you! Here you are. :)**

 **Marvolo.R: Thanks for your feedback. I agree that part is a bit cliche, but I hope the rest of the story makes up for it. There will be a lot of twist and turns.**

 **siwon611: Thank you love! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry it took so long :/**

 **clarit: Oh there will be plenty of flitting between these two cuties. There will be plenty of pent of sexual frustration and Byakuya won't be able to stay away for too long.**

 **LustfulAvarices: I'll be careful to watch out for these mistakes in the future.**

 **Lord Wolfe:Thank's love! Your comment made me smile.**


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the long wait. This chapters a bit steamy, so I think it makes up for it, yeah? ;) Any way, send me feedback and love!

 **Terms to know:**

 **Torii:** Arch way to a shrine

 **Tamagoaki:** The fence they place around the outside of a shrine

 **Sando:** The stone walk way up to the shrine

 **Toro:** Stone lanters

 **Hoden:** The main building of a shrine

 **Otoo/Ojji-san:** Father

 **Dommo arigatom:** A very formal way of saying thank you

 **Imouto/Ane:** Little sister/big sister

Good vibes ~ Ashes

 **Challenge Accepted**

 **xXx**

" **Come on you hermit, you never fight back.**

 **Why don't you play with bows and arrows?**

 **Why don't you dance like**

 **you're sick in your mind?**

 **Come on you hermit, why don't you play nice?**

 **Why don't you toy with sex and violence?"**

 **\- Cocoa Hooves By Glass Animals.**

 **xXx**

At the sound of his window sliding open, Urahara glanced up from his laptop to see Ichigo crouching through. He perked an eyebrow at the smirking assassin. "How'd you escape your fan club?" He asked as he unscrewed the top off his Sakal mango soda. Ichigo shrugged nonchalantly as he walked closer. He took a moment to regard where Chad sat opposite of Urahara man handling a pair of pliers, plucking at some frayed wires that came out of a contraption Ichigo had never seen. "I took the _underground railroad._ " With the rim of the drink nearly to his lips, Urahara stopped and widened his eyes a bit. "That's a bit of a risk," he said before pressing on with his drink, only to have it snatched from his grasp at the last possible second. Ichigo took a swig before placing it back on the metal working table. "You know I would've never risked coming here if I hadn't of been sure that I lost my watchers." He smirked again. "It was child's play once I got into the Red Light District." "And I believe you. Still, with them hot on your trail, I'm surprised you took the risk at all." "There's no rest for the wicked, Geta-bōshi. You know we have a job." The creases on Urahara's forehead constricted. "You mean..." In the middle of the two men, Ichigo hopped up on the table and swung his legs off the side. "That pen we placed, I wanted to know if anything else of importance has been said. I also want to iron out the details of our next hit." Subtly, Chad and Urahara exchanged heavy glances and shifted awkwardly in their chairs. "You still want to do the hits right now?" Chad asked. Ichigo regarded him with a fretted brow and a breathy chuckle. "Of course, I do." "But…" Chad began. "It's dangerous," Urahara finished. "I know you are ever the eager one, Ichigo-san, but would it hurt to put the brakes on until they're off our tail?" "I think that's the worst thing we could do." "Why?"

"Because what happens when I put the brakes back on? If the crimes stop once they're watching me and start again once they stop, that'll only give them more reason to suspect me. No, we'll continue like we always have," he said definitively.

Urahara tilted his head side to side and swished the drink back and forth as if he was analyzing the flavor. "I agree with you," he said finally, "but I still have my reservations. This could end badly."

Ichigo snorted. "We always knew that. Besides, as long as we keep it low risk for you guys, I don't see the problem."

A pair of pliers hit the table hard enough to jolt Ichigo's attention towards Chad. "It's not just us were worried about."

Ichigo blinked a couple of times, and his face sat blankly. Finally, a soft smile pulled at his lips. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm not going anywhere any time soon. Besides, we all knew it would come down to that one day. This life, there's only a few ways it could end. Like my dad or in prison." He shrugged a shoulder. "Prison doesn't seem so bad anyway. I could catch up on my reading."

"And what if it ends up like your dad?" Urahara asked, his voice thickening.

Briefly, Ichigo sat silently before shrugging a shoulder. "No one gets out of this world alive. If I have to die for something, it might as well be for something worth dying for. You guys have known the possibilities from the beginning, so can you stop wasting your time worrying about me? Let's worry about the hit instead.

A dense silence swirled around the three and clung to them like a ponderous coat. Finally, Urahara gave a resigned tilt of the head. "Right, well, we listened back in through the pen, and the guys were rather chatty about something they're calling The Arrancar Plan." "Arrancar?" "It means ripped mask in Spanish," Chad said. "Ripped mask," Ichigo echoed as he raked a hand through his hair. "What do know about it?" "A few of our connection that frequent the Yakuza watering holes are saying they've heard the same term being thrown around, but no one has any details about it." "We think it's because they don't want us to catch wind of it," added Chad. "At least not too quickly." At the prompting look Ichigo gave, Urahara said, "The information is being strategically placed. I'm guessing that's not an accident." "Aizen doesn't do accidents, " Ichigo said before he took another swig of his drink. "Maybe he wants to rip off my mask?"

"The name does seem a little bit on the nose. Not really Aizen's style, but maybe that's the point."

"We'll have to be careful," said Chad.

Ichigo took methodical, almost absent minded sips of the drink as he bore holes into the wall in front of him. "Very."

"We don't want to get caught in his trap, because that's one we might not even know we're in until it's too late."

"I know he likes his games, but we have the upper hand. He doesn't know us, but we know him."

Urahara snorted. "Does anyone really know Aizen?"

"We know how dangerous he is, that's all that really matters," Ichigo said.

"We'll just have to see where our cards land with this one, kid. We don't have enough information to form a contingency plan."

Ichigo gave the elder a sly smirk. "Says the guys who always has something up his sleeve?"

"I'm getting old, Ichigo-san, but don't worry," he said with a wink, "this old dog still has some tricks you haven't seen."

"Good, because I don't like the idea of sitting around waiting for something to happen. If we can, we need to get ahead of this."

They nodded in agreement before moving on to the finer details of their next hit. After another hour or so, Ichigo left, and when he did, Chad sent Urahara a conflicted look.

"I know," Urahara said as he took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

"I guess he has a point, there's only so many ways this could go."

"That's only because Ichigo-san makes it that way. What happened to his dad, that was an unseen variable. Isshin wasn't planning on dying anytime soon. He had a family to live for."

"But Ichigo…"

"Ichigo doesn't think he has anything to live for, so he's putting in the maximum investment. His life."

When Chad put the pliers back down and chewed on his lip in a hushed moment of trepidation, Urahara said, "He could continue his dad's works without basically drawing a target on that big orange head of his, but he chooses to go about this in such a full blown way."

"And if we tried to convince him otherwise, it wouldn't go well," Chad stated definitively.

Urahara let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, we'd have to draw straws to see who was having that conversation."

"I don't like this."

"Yeah...me either." A pause. "I have an idea, but you're not going to like it either."

Chad's eyes became bright as his ears practically perked. "What?"

Urahara's features darkened, highlighting the severity of the next words. "I mean, you're really not going to like it."

"If it could save Ichigo's life, I'll do anything."

 **xXx**

Located in the Shizuoka prefecture, just a hop, skip, and jump away from Tokyo, was the Izu peninsula. The secluded island was convoluted by a mesh of tangled roads that seemed to lead you nowhere but in circles, and throngs of forest blanketed the entirety of the city, masking it like a dense smoke. It was said that the island was a living, breathing, entity, neither benevolent nor righteous, and even hid itself away from its natives. Legend had it that if one roamed the labyrinth of landscapes with ill intention, she may decide to swallow you up in one of her many secrets and never let you go.

In other words, it was a prefect place to get lost in, and although it wasn't the thing of folk lore, one couldn't help but to feel as if they had stepped into a world in-between. Only a step away was Tokyo, the pulse of Japan, yet it was seemingly so distant, and it felt as if you were in-between the real and the surreal. At least, it felt that way to Kensi.

Like many things did, the island gave Kensi the creeps. He supposed he was a city boy if ever there was one, and his comfort zone existed within the familiarity of street lights and bustling sidewalks, not undiscovered coves and ocean tides that surrounded you like the bars of a prison cell. The fresh air and salt water, it suffocated him.

On the other hand, his partner was calmly enthralled, as if the two were on some school field trip, and every sight was a spectacle to be gawked at. He was wondering if Shuhei had ever seen a tree before with the way he took to the place.

In their search for Mayuri, the two had been led to Izu. However, there was no concrete address for the man. His records were disheveled, whole parts just plucked from his history, and it seemed as if the document was some cut and past version of various different lives he never lived. It was the sloppily constructed records of a man who was supposed to be forgotten, never looked at too closely. Supposedly, he was given government assistance for mental instability, though that was a dubious claim at best, because how do you send checks to someone with no known address?

Because of their suspicions, the agents decided to keep their knowledge of Mayuri's involvement in the botany facility under wraps, lest this be the cover up that it was beginning to look like. After so many years in the force, Kensei could smell a conspiracy like a dog could smell a bone, and both him and Shuhei knew something was awry.

When they had started throwing out the name Mayuri to the locals, people gave them a two headed glare, and Kensei could see the genuine confusion in their eyes. People around these parts knew just about everyone, so it almost scared them that someone dwelled within, unknown and unobservable. Luckily, Mayuri reportedly had a daughter, Nemu, with an equally as patchy background, and when they started throwing around her name, lights of recognition and relief filled their faces.

The pair inhabited a long abandoned Shinto shrine deep within the woods, and the daughter would frequently walk a kilometers worth of scabrous roads to gather supplies. Although they heard of him, no one had ever seen Mayuri, and from what little they knew of Nemu, they didn't want to. She was offbeat, almost robotic like, and if the words of locals held true, nothing existed behind her eyes, as if she was an empty husk. Nonetheless, everyone left the pair peacefully secluded in their strangeness. No one really wanted to know of them, and even if they did, everyone had a story in Izu. At the very least, that was something the natives could respect.

Kensei and Shuhei drove their parole car to the location that had been mapped out for them. They pulled right up in front of a torii with painted wood chips spiking from the columns. As the two got out of the car, they stopped and observed the entrance with weary eyes. The gable was one bad storm from falling apart, and collapsed pieces of the tamagaki laid in heaps.

"What a dump," Kensei said as he lit up a cigarette. "And isn't it ironic, a scientist living in a shrine?"

"Scientist can believe in a god too."

Kensei snorted, blowing smoke from his nostrils as he did so. "If this is how he treats a place he believes in, than I'd hate to see how he treats something he doesn't."

The two made their way down the worn sando, making sure to watch their steps as they navigated around stones that were almost uprooted by the overgrown grass. Lining the pathway were intricate toro that dangled from metal hooks. They were smothered by a layer of moss and looked as if they had not been utilized in years. As they approached the hoden, they saw what looked like a fire pit sheltered by a makeshift tent and a wire stretched between two trees and draped with clothing.

At it stood a woman in a wrinkled yutaka. Slowly she shook out garments and situated them on the wire. She did this methodically, as if she had all the time in the world. The sound of their footfalls must have warned her, because she finally turned around, and it looked as if the locals were right. Underneath her vacant glare and dry strands of raven hair, she was rather beautiful, but her disposition made that easy to overlook.

With a piece of cloth draped across her arm, she stood rigidly, almost defensively. "What can I do for you?" She asked.

"We're looking for a man named Kurotsuchi-san," Kensei said. The woman stiffened a little more, and he frowned. "That's your Otoo-san, yeah? We know he lives here with you."

"I'm sorry, I can not help you," she said, turning back to her work.

"Look, lady y-"

Shuhei held out a hand that said ' _let me handle this'_ , and Kensei grunted in approval.

"You're Kurotsuchi Nemu, correct? We're from the homicide division of the Criminal Investigation Bureau." When the woman looked over her shoulder with a guarded glare, he flashed her a smile. "I'm Shuhei Junsa, and this is my partner, Muguruma Junsa Bucho. We just need to ask him some questions."

"My Ojji-san has no involvement with any murder," she said.

"And we believe you, but we also believe he may know someone who does, and that he could help us find them. We promise to only take up a little of your time."

Her hands halted in their preening, and she turned around with a sigh. "Very well, but he is… not completely there, so I don't know how much help he will be to you."

"Doumo arigatou **,"** Shuhei said with a bow, to which she simply nodded in reply before walking towards the steps of the sando.

The pair walked inside on the heels of Nemu, and if he didn't know any better, Kensei wouldn't have been able to tell you they were standing in a shrine. Every surface was littered by a collection of junk. There were huge hunks of seemingly broken machinery, an array of flask and burners, coils and ripped up newspaper, withered up flowers and buckets of paint. None of these items seemed to have one coherent point or reason to them, but the disarray told a story. In these odds and ins was the narrative of a psychotic man. If anything, it felt like the garage sell of a serial killer. This all around theme was perfected by the mosaic of articles canvassing every wall.

"Holy shit…" Kensei said as he just barely avoided tripping over what he thought to be a broken down car battery.

Shuhei jolted him from his bafflement when he nudged Kensei and nodded to a man frantically pacing in front of his project.

"Ojji-san…" Nemu said, approaching the man with tentative steps. "These officers are here to speak to you."

Mayuri turned in a jerk. His face was covered with smudged paint that ran together into one gray mess. He looked like a clown with a drinking problem as he pointed at the officers with one bony finger. "Trouble," he shouted. "I don't talk to trouble."

Kensei was ready to tell his partner what a waste of time this was, but Shuhei was already stepping towards the man and his wall of paranoia.

He glared at the clippings as if the wall was simply a riddle to be deciphered. "Kurotsuchi-san, I see you have quite a collection. They're's a lot of articles on RIKEN here." He pressed his fingertips to the flaps of sepia paper and dragged it along the edges. Mayuri promptly knocked his hand away.

"Trouble...trouble…" Mayuri said, muttering.

"Are you trying to tell us you can get in trouble for talking to us? Why is that? Is RIKEN threatening you?"

"Ha!" Mayuri let out a booming laugh and wagged a finger at Shuhei. "You can not threaten the dead."

Shuhei lowered his brow and stepped closer. "We know that RIKEN is up to something bad, and we want to figure out what that is." He gestured towards the wall. "I think you do too. We need to know, did anyone else survive the toxic event? Can you tell us anything about it?"

Mayuri went still, paralyzed by his thoughts. His glare filtered through the agent, and there was a strange kind of tragedy reflected in his eyes.

"Geta-bōshi," he whispered.

"Who?"

"Geta-bōshi!" He shouted, his face inflamed with contempt. "He'd find a way, he said! But it was too late. No serum. No truth. Vanished. Poof." Mayuri rushed to another wall and rifled through a layer of clippings, shuffling them as he did so. Finally he plucked one from the wall and thrusted it against Shuhei's chest. "Look! Here!"

Shuhei glazed over the article. It was an editorial about the developing science programs within the Japan's Self Defense Force(the military). At a first glance, it looked vague and lacking of anything substantial.

"I don't understand."

Mayuri pulled at his hair as if he was attempting to rip it from the follicles, and he let out a loud roar that echoed through the shrine. "Agh!" He shouted, swiping his hands across the wall and creating a maelstrom of newspaper.

"I think it is time you two leave," Nemu said. "You are upsetting him."

Shuhei looked less than convinced, but Kensei pulled him by the forearm towards the entrance. "I think you're right," he said, dragging Shuhei along.

When they got outside, Kensei said, "All we can do now is report this to Agent Kuchiki."

Reluctantly, Shuhei nodded, and they headed back towards the car.

 **xXx**

"I see." Byakuya grabbed his keys as he spoke into his phone. He walked towards the door, but stopped to finish his conversation before he left. "Excellent work, Muguruma Junsa Bucho. I'll consider the entail and give you further instructions tomorrow." _'Geta-bōsh, I know that name.'_

Without further discussion, he disconnected the call and put the information to the back of his head. He knew the trouble that could find him if he didn't stay alert while on the job, so he chose to give the subject deeper thought once he returned from his post.

He opened the door to leave, only to go wide eyed at the figure who stood before him wearing a bright smile.

"Rukia," he said, shaking himself from his stupor.

She stood in the doorway carrying nothing but a small tote bag and a slight flush, and he thought about how she didn't look like herself. Then again, he wouldn't really know.

"Byakuya!" She said, wrapping her free arm around him in an awkward and forced embraced. When he continued to stand dumbly in the doorway, she asked, "Are you going to let me in or are you going to stand there cooling the hallway?"

He cleared his throat and stepped aside. "Of course."

She walked straight in and deposited her bag on the couch before turning back to her brother.

"What are you doing here, Rukia?" The woman lost her smile for a moment, and Byakuya knew his words sounded unduly crass, but it was an appropriate question all the same.

"I had a lay over in Tokyo, so I figured I'd come spend some time with my brother."

"You didn't call."

She smirked. "Because I knew you would have told me not to come."

Byakuya wondered how she could say such painfully true words as if there was some comical aspect to them. Sometimes he forgot he had a sister, and when he saw her, he always had this brief feeling of confusion, as if he was looking at a familiar stranger.

Then weariness followed, bringing it's friend guilt along to the party. After their mother grew ill, Rukia was shipped away to boarding school where she stayed until college. Now she was a wildlife photographer who transversed the globe, and Byakuya didn't think she would've been this happy and successful if she had stayed. In their own unique ways, both Byakuya and his father knew it was for the best. They wanted the best for her. Even at a young age, Byakuya knew the world of which he chose to submerge himself in would be one of immense hardships. He knew what his father knew, but never said. He knew of the poison that seeped from underneath their floorboards, and he didn't want someone as precious as Rukia to be tainted by it. They wanted her out before it was too late, before she became a true Kuchiki.

But simplifying their justifications to a kindness was an insult to the youngest Kuchiki. Truth be told, they didn't want the burden. Protecting her from a distance was both good for her but easier for them. It gave them room to focus without the looming shadows of worrisome and guilt clouding their resolve, but in the end, that was all the more reason for her to go. They were both cold men, sacrificing time and attachment for what they considered a higher purpose.

He had to wonder, however, if Rukia ever felt like their shared obligation, as if they were playing hot potato with their responsibility towards her, passing her along from school to school. She was raised by house mothers and molded by her peers, and for that reason, she was only a Kuchiki in name and blood, but Byakuya thought that was probably for the best.

She awoke conflicting feelings in him, because while he felt a latent sense of protectiveness and pride towards her, he wasn't sure if that translated into love. He didn't even know her, and for the sake of his justice, he often placed her in the back of his mind too. It made him wonder if you could truly love someone you didn't know. It made him wonder if he'd ever love anything more than duty.

He loved Ren, but in the end, he had pushed Ren away also, right into the arms of death. Byakuya paid his toll in the form of affection and connections, and apart of him hated that about himself.

He had spent so much time judging his father, that he didn't even realize when he had became just like him until it was too late.

Byakuya's eyes shifted towards his wristwatch, and he cleared his throat again, almost compulsively. "Ah, well, make yourself at home. I would stay, b-"

"I get it." Rukia waved him off and sat on the couch. "Duty calls. I'll make us some dinner while you're out."

Byakuya put on the faintest of smiles. "That sounds lovely."

It was no more than hour into his post when Byakuya got the phone call. He once again found himself lingering in the darkness outside of the Kurosaki estate, feeling like no more than a glorified watch dog.

It didn't need to be him doing these steaks out, and considering Ichigo's ability to circumnavigate all of his watchers, he wasn't sure that it needed to be anyone. If he was honest, it was probably a waste of time and resources, but he didn't even want to begin asking himself why he felt drawn to the dwellings of the specter that was Ichigo Kurosaki.

Like a widow that, without a conscious realization, found themselves driving by the place where they first met their lover, something about this home pulled at him. Standing outside of Ichigo's window felt like belonging and purpose, but he told himself it was because this was the only concrete lead they had.

He pulled the phone from his pocket, and a number identified as the local fire department scold across his screen. He made a considering hum before he placed the phone to his ear.

"Agent Kuchiki speaking."

" _Yes, hello, Agent Kuchiki-san. I'm calling to inform you that there has been a fire at your complex. I'm sorry to say your imōto-san_ _has been injured_. _I would come right away.'_

Byakuya's eyes rounded, and he could feel his heart beating in his ears. "On my way," Byakuya said before he thoughtlessly sprinted towards the train station. Such dismal probabilities were consuming his thoughts that he didn't even think to ask questions before he dropped the call. It was panic that drove his movements, and he could only think about getting to her.

He finally found enough clarity to call a taxi right as he was about to descend the stairs of the station. Every minute felt like hours, each second feeling like it's own significant occurrence, and all the street lights were red to Byakuya, even when they weren't.

When he finally arrived back at his complex, he threw an unidentifiable amount of money at the driver as he exited the vehicle.

The silence reeked of tranquility, and the building basked in it's usual stillness, but before he could process exactly what was wrong with this picture, Byakuya ran into his complex, up the stairs, and through the door with a fright.

Rukia gave him a worried stare from where she stood over a simmering pot, but with his body thrown into over gear, Byakuya looked around as if the fire was hiding from him.

"Byakuya, are you okay?"

Then, as the reality of his situation settled in, he realize that the only fire was the one now billowing in his gut. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Kurosaki Ichigo," he said, his jaw threatening the pop from the pressure of his clenched teeth.

"Byakuya?"

He opened his eyes to see Rukia staring up at him with a wooden spoon in hand, worry evident on her face. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he barely managed, "but first thing in the morning, you need to leave here."

"Why?" She asked, slumping her shoulders.

Bluntly, he said, "I am dealing with a very dangerous case, and you are nothing but a weakness for me at this time."

Maybe if he wasn't so angry, the way she dipped her head and hugged herself like his coldness was freezing her alive might've made him feel remorse, but that emotion was lost to the flames ravishing his body.

"I understand, Byakuya…"

"Good. Now I have to leave once more."

 **xXx**

"Hey ugly," Kukaku said as she swept the floor of the clinic.

Kaien smiled big at her from the stairwell. "It's always nice to see you too, Ane."

Ichigo, who was stuffing supplies into a backpack, looked up. "Hey, he looks just like me!"

"That's my point. He looked way better when he looked just like himself."

Ichigo looked towards his cousin like he was looking in a mirror. His bleached hair and brown contacts made him the perfect stand it. More so, it made him the perfect alibi. He was Ichigo's magic trick, his ability to be at two places at once. He was an indispensable tool.

What made him even more indispensable was his nomadic ways. Kaien's job took him to different locations frequently, and Agent Kuchiki didn't even know he was in Tokyo, making him the perfect misdirection.

In the beginning, Ichigo had no attention of involving his family, but being a brood of criminals themselves, detecting shady activity was like a sixth sense for the Shiba clan. Knowing they wouldn't betray him, Ichigo confessed to what he had been doing. It went without saying that, even though they were criminals, they were baffled by the severity of Ichigo's work.

Every one knew what drove Ichigo, but no one ever talked about it. He could see it in their eyes though, the underlying sadness everyone had when they looked at him. It made him sick sometimes, the way everyone tiptoed around him as if he was a condemned building, being careful with every light footfall they took. His interactions were constantly filled with unsaid words and loaded stares, but it made sense, the way they looked at him like a man on the precipice of death.

He wasn't really Ichigo anymore, and therefore, none of his interactions held an ounce of earnest, but if someone said that with bruising honesty, they'd all have to admit how fuck up their situation really was. They'd have to admit that they weren't living with Ichigo, but the ghost of him. They were holding on to the dead, a mere echo of what Ichigo use to be.

Nothing exemplified that more than how the Shiba's blindly helped Ichigo. They helped with a silent hope of salvation, as if Ichigo wasn't already just vapors in the wind. Of course, it was under the guise of loyalty. The Shiba's were that type. The 'I'll help you bury the body,' better in numbers, type, reasoning Ichigo was less likely to get caught with their support. Not that they were wrong, but this wasn't their typical method of protection. If this was any other kind've situation, they'd shield Ichigo publicly and then scold him privately. Ginjo and Kaien probably would've beat the shit out of him, letting Kukaku get in her fair share of licks. There'd be interventions and lots of shouting, but not this time.

They knew that with or without their help, Ichigo had already signed his death sentence. He was performing his own exorcism, and their attempts of protection were no more effective than a ouija board seance. They were simply delaying the inevitable, trying to give his soul some vestige of hope to cling onto. So now he was constantly suspended between life and death, both pulling at him until he was a soul asunder, but Ichigo had no doubt about what side would come out on top.

The living did always have trouble letting go of the dead.

Ichigo really was the worst type of ghost. He haunted everyone around him, possessed their bodies for his own means. If they were around to see the way he used his family, his father would be disgusted, and his own mother wouldn't even speak at his funeral, because even though he never asked directly, Ichigo had already predicted it would lead to this. He let it. Hell, he even welcomed it, and he never even felt guilty about it. Not that he would allow himself to think on the matter enough to form an opinion one way or another.

Ichigo mistakenly walked over Kukaku's pile of dirt, and he noticed how she didn't spare him a single scathing look.

"Whats wrong?"

She stopped her mindless sweeping with a sigh. "Don't you think you went too far?"

Ichigo didn't flinched. He just shrugged a shoulder. "I think going too far would've been actually setting his house on fire." Her glare did not falter, and he squirmed a bit. "It was necessary. I had to get him to leave so we could do the switch. I probably could've done it and lost him on the way to the hit, but that would've put everyone at risk."

Planted, unwavering, she said, "It was cruel."

She was right, it was. It didn't matter. He was a ghost. Ghost don't have consequences. This purgatory, it was his consequence.

Ichigo snorted in ridicule. "After all the things I've done, I think I'll manage to sleep soundly tonight."

His voice didn't even sound like his own. It was grainy and far away, as if someone else's voice had been picked up by the wind and just barely met his ear. Why should he care? Ichigo would've cared, but he was dead. Only The Ghost was left.

Kakaku tutted and stormed out of the room with heavy feet. Kaine said nothing, but he didn't have to. His sheepish smile read perfectly clear.

"I gotta get going," Ichigo said as he slung on his pack. "If he comes back before I do, just linger by the window. Make your presence known."

"I know the drill... I guess it would be stupid of me to tell you to be safe?"

Ichigo smirked. "Don't worry, they'll never even know I was there."

After Ichigo left, at some point, Kaien had fallen asleep with his feet on a desk and a book in his hand. He was yanked out of his restfulness when Kakaku kicked his legs and nearly sent him toppling.

"No sleeping on the job!" She said as Kaien yawned and stretched his arms. "Agent Glacier Face is back!" Walking over to the window, she peeked through a slit in the curtains.

"Time flies when you're sleeping," Kaien said as he stood beside her and pinned back the curtains. He stood with juted chin and arms crossed in plain view, earning him a slap on the head.

"Stop posing like a catalogue model! Geez, have you heard of subtleties? I mean c- oh shit," she said, her eyes rounding down at the road below, "this isn't good."

"What is it?" Kaien asked, following her line of sight to see Agent Kuchiki crossing the street and heading straight towards the clinic. "Oh shit is right." He blinked a few times. "Just don't let him in."

Kakaku snorted. "Yeah, because cops are known for respecting civil liberties. If he wants in, he'll get in! You're just going to have to talk to him."

"No way!"

"What happened to those acting chops, huh? Time to take center stage," she said, ushering him towards the stairs forcefully.

"I'm just a stunt double! If I talk to him, he'll know I'm not Ichigo the second I open my mouth!"

Kakaku put a fist up to her mouth and bit it in contemplation. "Shit, shit, shit. I guess I could say you're sleeping, but with what that dumb ass just did to him, I don't think he'll just respectfully leave and come back in the morning. Shit!"

"I know!" Kaien said with a snap, "I'll just leave out the back. You can say that Ichigo went out for the night."

"It'll have to work." She pushed Kaien forward and shook her head. "I'm so sick of that kid and his bull shit."

A loud, demanding knock rang, and Kakaku took a composing sigh right before she swung the door open. "Hey! I know you're some hot shot N.P.A Agent, but that doesn't give you the right to come knocking on people's doors this late."

She could tell by the way his eyes stuck to her own like leeches that he was anything but impressed. "I am here for Kurosaki Ichigo. Fetch him."

"Yeah, well, it says right on that sign that business hours start at nine, so come back th-" She started to slam the door mid sentence, but her attempts were thwarted by the agent's hand. His eyes were like a game of Russian Roulette daring her to try him, and Kakaku reflexively hesitated.

"You can play dumb to his games if you would like, but I will not leave until I speak to him."

Her body deflated like a popped balloon, and all the confidence she had seeped out. "Look, Ichigo is-"

"I'm right here."

Kakaku turned to see a sweatpants clad Ichigo standing behind her. She growled with her eyes, and as she past him, she said, "Clean up your mess."

Ichigo leaned against the door frame and smirked devilishly at Byakuya. "If you wanted to spend the night with me, all the had to do was ask, Agent." Ichigo's veins were throbbing, but not from the hit, and he could feel Byakuya's own rushing blood matching his, as if in challenge. He could sense a visceral anger that hissed and sparked between the two like electrical currents dancing across their skin. It felt completely animalistic, and oh god, Ichigo wanted to wrap his mouth around the man's outrage.

Without word, Byakuya walked passed him holding an indecipherable expression, and Ichigo's warmth swelled. "Well come on it, Byakuya."

There was a desk by the door that Ichigo utilized for his judo classes. He sat on the edge, legs dangling and palms bracing as he appraised a silent Byakuya. There were no words, just heavy energy fluctuating between the two. Ichigo's stomach was full of stage fright, nervous energy as it twirled around. He bit his lip anxiously, steeling himself.

"Where were you this evening?" Byakuya asked.

"In my bed." Ichigo's mouth twitched. "Thinking of you. Touching myself."

"Let me rephrase the question. How many dead bodies will I find tomorrow?"

Ichigo shrugged a shoulder and pursed his lips to feign innocent. "I wouldn't know anything about that, but a better question is, Byakuya, what are you doing here?"

Byakuya pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and gracefully placed a filter between his lips. He then proceeded to hold the zippo right above the tightly rolled paper, but before he sparked the lighter, he said, "I am here to clear up a misconception I believe you to have."

The tobacco seared. Smoked formed. It smelled of vanilla. Crisp.

"We don't smoke in here."

"Is that so?" Byakuya said, inhaling deeply. He let the smoke that drifted in between their silence be his answer.

Ichigo grinned widely. "I get it, Byakuya. You make the rules, right?"

Byakuya perked an eyebrow. "On the contrary, I do not make rules because I do not play games with children." As he continued to puff on his cigarette ever so casually, letting the ashes fall where they may in his deliberately slow display, Ichigo tilted his head, feeling humored. Byakuya did everything with an excruciating amount of patience. He was wordlessly relaying to Ichigo that they were on his time. That was okay. Ichigo didn't mind letting Byakuya think he was in charge. In fact, he was just crazy enough to enjoy it.

Byakuya was just that kind've man. Dominating, a gradual lull that pulled everyone and everything into it's seductive trance. A sweet death you never saw coming, but when you did, you couldn't help but let it take you over. Only Ichigo was the storm, a raw destruction, and they both conflicted and untied in equal strength.

"You kept tracks on my imouto," Byakuya continued. "That tells me one of two things. Rather you're that frightened by me that you would go so far, or you're crying out for attention like a child."

Byakuya slinked forward, a small smirk pulling at his lips. Ichigo watched entranced. He couldn't tame his eyes or the way they lingered. He had never seen the Agent so relaxed; his shoulders were lowered, his jaw loose, his brow smooth, and he moved like a snake, fluid yet full of perilous intent. For once, Ichigo felt fear, fear of the danger lurking beneath this sudden change in disposition.

When Ichigo's knees brushed against Byakuya, the Agent stopped and licked his lips. "Perhaps, like a child, the only way to placate you is to give you what you want."

Byakuya took Ichigo's chin with a gentle control and tilted his head until their lips met in one of the most innocent joinings either had ever indulged in. All of Ichigo's wind was stolen by those soft, tobacco flavored lips, the way they touched him with the purity of a lover, and he felt as if he was falling in reverse, pushed from earth into heaven.

His eyes fluttered, mouth parted, and he was breathing daggers. Byakuya traced his tongue around the fleshy insides of Ichigo's lips in a teasing manner, and Ichigo wanted so much more, but as he pushed forward, Byakuya ended their connection.

Ichigo felt the instinctual need to fight back, perhaps run, but something he desired more implored a stillness. The agent was dripping with venom, and Ichigo wanted to feel fangs pierce his thick armor of skin. He wanted to feel the poison coursing through his veins. He was attracted to the sickness, the unpredictability, the fever he felt when Byakuya was around. Mostly, he was attracted to the lack of nothingness only Byakuya's could cause

It sent him spinning. Blood rushed with a purpose, warming his numbed limbs with the presence of unidentifiable feelings. These sensations Byakuya caused in him spoke to his body in a foreign language. He could not grasp them, but they could certainly grasp Ichigo. They made him sick in the best possible way, and Ichigo got high off their realness.

"I've had much better, Ichigo," Byakuya whispered against his blushed lips. "If I have confused you, I am sorry, but it has been my job to entertain your games. I want you to understand that you do not affect me in the way I so obviously affect you. When I kiss you, I want you to know how easy it is for me to pull away, because you make me feel nothing. Your games, they're futile."

It was all a game, one where they weren't even keeping score. They both had their own end game plans, but the ride along the way, well that was all for fun. Byakuya couldn't be impervious to Ichigo if his life depended on it, but even knowing this, Ichigo thought he might choke on the agent's words. Processing them felt like utilizing parts of himself he'd almost forgot he had, and those parts ached from atrophy.

Ichigo's head was flying. Lust, curiosity, hate, passion, they were a carnival ride he didn't want to end. Their eyes created embers as they locked, like two flint rocks crashing against one another. Ichigo didn't speak. He knew he could, but he didn't want to. He knew he was only allowing Byakuya to win, because he wanted to know what losing to him felt like. He wanted Byakuya to penetrate him with his mean words. He wanted Byakuya to fuck him with his hate. Ichigo wanted what the other made him feel, whatever it may be, but he feared getting lost to the opiate that was Byakuya Kuchiki if he continued in his indulgence. He feared how much he desired to let Byakuya consume him, because if he did, Ichigo would lose everything, and if it got _too_ real, that was when it stopped being a game.

He couldn't be serious about Byakuya Kuchiki and what he felt for him. He couldn't forget who they were to each other.

"Well, that is not completely true. I feel disgust," Byakuya said as he released Ichigo's chin. "Do you really think I could crave the man who so shamelessly used Rukia's life against me?"

"It sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself of that," Ichigo said, but something about the words sounded too late. Ichigo knew the moment he allowed that kiss under Byakuya's terms, he had relinquished control of the situation, but he also understood that, if this was a battle lose, it was only because he gave it to the agent. The only real power Byakuya had was the ability to make Ichigo desire surrender, but Ichigo was starting to realize how destructive a power like that could really be.

"What if it was your imouto? Do you think they would be proud? No, your whole family would be abhorred by you. You shame them in everything you do."

Ichigo kneaded the wood of the desk with his knuckles, and his whole body clamped down on the anger bubbling up from the wound of Byakuya's words. Around Byakuya, he felt so real. His voice was his own, and the fog that surrounded him grew dim, but he wanted it back. He wanted splinters. He wanted to be in a place far away from wrought emotions and slipping composure.

When had Byakuya turned into a weakness?

"I don't know what you're talking about. Get the hell out of my house! Now!" Ichigo said through gritted teeth.

Byakuya pressed both palms on either side of Ichigo, and he smirked victoriously. "You're angry, Kurosaki Ichigo. I knew you weren't completely dead inside."

Ichigo slid from his seat and stood chest to chest with the agent. He pointed his chin definitely, but his his cheeks were flushed and his eyes half lidded. "I said leave!" Ichigo all but shouted.

Byakuya's eyes glided over Ichigo's huffing face. His pupils were dilated, and he bit at his lip. "Even after my words, you're still aroused. Perhaps you truly are a masochist."

Byakuya wasn't wrong. Ichigo couldn't remember the last time he felt genuine anger boiling at his insides, and it turned him on in ways he didn't know possible. He had never been so hard in his life. "Yeah, well that make you a sadist, because I can see just how much you enjoy pissing me off."

Byakuya took his pack and placed them in Ichigo's back pocket, running a hand along the shapely bottom as he did so. "Here. Keep these," he whispered against Ichigo's accelerating pulse point. "That way, you can remember how I taste, because this is the last time you'll be so close to me." He went to move away, proud of his resolve and the way he could make Ichigo contort with emotion in a manner no one else could. He really had meant to walk away, and he did, but something grabbed his wrist. No, not something, someone. Ichigo. In a whirlwind, he was pulled into Ichigo's body, and his mouth was captured. Strong fingers intertwined with his raven hair. The hand held onto the strands like reigns controlling Byakuya's movements. They were possessive.

He was spun around, and he could only tell this from the feel of his ass hitting wood. A knee violated his already strained erection, and his gasping mouth betrayed him, allowing Ichigo deeper access. Now it was his turn to spin. He braced against Ichigo's shoulders like they were safety bars keeping him anchored as everything was zooming around him at zero gravity, just blurs of indescribable color tangling into one.

Ichigo had pulled back the fabric of his shirt to reveal a sliver of shoulder. His tongue lapped against the ivory, and his lips made a red trail of soft suction. He moaned, or perhaps it was Ichigo, or maybe it was both of them. Byakuya couldn't be sure.

"You were wrong again, Byakuya," Ichigo said, and his voice rumbled out like a freight train. It wasn't until he bit into the skin that Byakuya's head stop floating. The erotic pain brought reality back upon him, a place he wasn't even sure he wanted to be. He pushed Ichigo away, knocking him back several feet. A cocksure smirk was planted on his face, not even a hint that anger had ever existed there. They stood like two rabid animals in challenge, huffing, glaring, moments away from pouncing. The first one who blinked lost.

Byakuya ignored the searing of teeth marks that claimed his skin. "I am not your toy."

"Pfh." Ichigo shook his head in amusement. "We're each others toys, Byakuya." The agent's eyes sharpened indignantly, but his body quivered at the way Ichigo spoke his name. "Admit it, you didn't come here because of Rukia or because you think I'm The Ghost. You came here because you wanted to play with me. You love this as much as I do. Maybe even more."

"I'm leaving," Byakuya said as he turned around.

"If you can play games, so can I!"

Byakuya's feet stopped just before he reached the door. Without even turning around, he asked, "Are you implying that you haven't been playing games up till this point?"

"No." He could hear the smirk in Ichigo's boyish grit. "Just that I've been going easy on you, _old man_."

Byakuya growled, the guttural tremble of his voice rattling the most lustful parts of his counterpart. "Do not insult me by giving less than your best."

Ichigo chuckled lowly. "Okay then. This is where the real fun begins, _Byakuya._ "

"Challenge accepted, _Ichigo_."

 **xXx**

 **Korazan: Oh yes, Byakuya's got a rough rode ahead of him. I'm a total sadist for Byakuya. Hehe. Thank you for the review, love. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**

 **MsMJ: Hey, love! I've put a lot of research into this story, and I'm glad it pays off. Especially since I mix Americanized policing into the Japanese style of policing. I wanted it to still seem real without boring the reader. Anyway, thank you for the review, and thank you for pointing out my mistakes. These long chapters are really hard to edit, and I always miss something.**

 **LustfulAvarices: Hahaha. Oh dear, this made me laugh. It's okay, we all have our bitch moments. I've probably had three just this week.**

 **clarit: OH BUDDY, I feel like, if you thought the last chapter was hot, this one will have you melting at your computer. Little secret, I'm sorta team Ichigo too. This is the first fic I've written where their relationship is mega dysfunctional, and I adore it way more than I probably should.**

 **Tifanny91: Hey love! I don't know if you've gotten this far into the story, but If you have, I hope you're enjoying the ride. It's a pretty dark one.**

 **byaichilover428: Thanks love!**


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Good news is, I'm done with the story that had been taking up the majority of my time, and I'll be putting my energy mostly into this story. Bad news is, I'm kind've trying to work my way back into this fic since it's been in the back of my mind for so long. Sorry if this chapter seems "rusty"

Chabudai: Traditional short legged table.

Zabuton: Floor sitting pillow

Koshinuke: Yakuza slang for coward

Itachi: Yakuza slang for cop

Izakaya: A type of informal Japanese gastropub. They are casual places for after-work drinking.

 **You Touched me and now I'm Dirt**

 **xXx**

 **"You were sharp as a knife to get me**

 **You were a wolf in the night to fetch me back**

 **The wishes I've made are too vicious to tell**

 **Everyone knows I am going to Hell**

 **And if it's true**

 **I'll go there with you"**

 **-The Wolf**

 _Byakuya stood regarding the darkness of his apartment, not yet turning on the light._

 _You see, adults, they don't fear monsters in the dark, but the solitude. They knew the scariest places in the world are inside of themselves, and without the lights distraction, where all that existed was breath and thought, you were left alone with that terror._

 _And yet, Byakuya didn't want the light. Didn't deserve it. He didn't want the best parts of him to see the worst. He didn't want to relate the depraved man with the bulge in his pants to the one who lived with a general sense of normalcy._

 _That's why he closed his eyes and ignored the overhead stove light and the pot of now cold food left on the burner. Cowardly, he knew, but he couldn't stand the way it beamed like a spotlight illuminating his greatest mistakes_ _._

 _Finally, he walked into the kitchen and retrieved a piece of Tupperware from under the counter. The floor he moved across was flooded in yellow light, and as he put the food away, he felt neck deep in it_ _._

 _Afterwards, he was in the bathroom, clothes tossed carelessly and uncharacteristically on the floor. He stood under hot water, scrubbed viciously, but no amount of surface deep rawness could cleans him of his most monstrous desires._

 _It couldn't take away that want to hurt Ichigo, or perhaps more frightening, his want to not hurt Ichigo at all._

 _He traced his lips, water speckled and marked, noting the way they tingled at thoughts of Ichigo's eyes and how they raged beautifully, so unusually full._

 _Hands pressed against the shower wall, Byakuya looked at his persistent arousal. He must've really been a sadist, because even his own self loathing wasn't enough to make this stop._

 _He leaned against the ceramic tile, tugging his cock, and with nothing but the image of Ichigo's abundant eyes to work him through it, he climaxed in a matter of strokes._

 **xXx**

"Byakuya."

The agent's eye's opened and closed a couple of times, and he felt an elbow nudge his side as his name was whispered again.

He took a sip of his burnt coffee and made a slight humming sound before bypassing Renji's concerned eyes to take in the crime scene in front of him.

This display of corpses was a bit pedestrian for the Ghost of Tokyo's standards. It had all the workings of his typical hit without the creativity. Then again, it was hard to top his last murder masterpiece.

Clean and detached killings, bloodless and bound victims, it was all the same, except for one thing.

Witnessess. Three very alive, very lucky, young men who were found tied up beside their not as fortunate comrades.

One smelt of piss and sat with unblinking eyes. Another kept his head dipped between his bent knees as he plucked mindlessly at some fuze on his trousers, and the last wore a scowl as jagged and unsettling as a knife wound slashed across his face.

Byakuya handed his cup to Renji and walked across the grungy, beige carpet to pluck a pair of gloves from Yumichika's duffle.

"Tanako- Junsa, take these men to our headquarters. I'll be by to question them soon. And please," his nose wrinkled, "get that gentleman a new pair of pants."

The agent shimmied his hands into the tight latex as he ambled around the room, checking all surfaces as he did so. He approached a green chabudai and grimaced at the ground before he placed a knee on one of several zabuton. He then pressed his palms flat on the table, and with splayed fingers, ran his hands across the even surface.

"No Forty-Seven Ronin this time," he remarked as he stood and walked over to a wall tacked Castle in the Sky poster.

"Maybe he was short on time, got sloppy," Renji said.

Byakuya narrowed his eyes at a few out of place milky streaks staining the poster. "Perhaps," he said as he swiped a finger over the grainy, unidentifiable mark. "Or perhaps not."

He pulled the poster from the wall, rolled it up, and handed it over to Yumichika. "Ayasegawa Keibuho take this to your lab. Run it under a blacklight."

Yumichika snapped a picture of one of the victims before he inclined his head and grabbed the scroll without question. "Of course, Agent Kuchiki."

"Do you have any idea what these men were poisoned with?"

"I have a pretty accurate idea, but we'll have to wait for the forensic toxicology report to come in." Yumichika smirked as he placed the scroll within an airtight evidence bag. "From the shared vomit stains, tract marks, and blue nails, I'm thinking heroin."

"Heroin? That's unlike The Ghost."

"I thought the same thing too." Yumichika went from his duffel bag to another that sat amongst the gathered evidence. He pulled at the zipper to reveal pounds of top of the market heroin. "However," he said, picking up a brick of fine white powder wrapped in plastic, "I found something else that supports my theory."

He took his nail and picked at a fold in the clephane that exposed a tiny agent brought his face closer and squinted.

"He drugged them with their own narcotics?"

Yumichika made a humming sound of approval as he placed the drugs back in the duffle. Pulling off his gloves, he said, "I'll say this, you have to appreciate the poetic irony. He certainly puts thought into his craft."

"It's a murder, not a Ryu Murakami novel," Renji said.

Yumichika slung his duffel over one shoulder and shrugged the other. "Both consider themselves artist. Serial killers are infamous for their meticulous manner of murder."

Renji scoffed over the filter of his cigarette, and when he lit it, Byakuya's lips twisted at the commingled odor of piss, vomit, and cheap tobacco burning the air."

"Artist, huh?" Ikkaku asked, "So what do you think, Agent Kuchiki? Still think this guy takes no personal enjoyment in this sick shit?"

Byakuya's cold eyes flickered over the ashen, bile dripping faces.

"I will admit, his method of homicide was… interesting, however, The Ghost typically makes his choices on logical bases alone, not as a form of social commentary."

He turned to Ikkaku as he took off his gloves and said, "There's no margin for error here. His meticulousness, it's not craftsmanship, it's necessity. In fact, I think he treats this whole ordeal as a necessity."

"How do you figure that?"

"People who enter into the police force often do so for a sense of fulfillment and purpose. Or at least, they should. Service workers help people on a smaller scale, but they're typically not fulfilled by these jobs. They do it because these jobs have to be done by someone, because it's necessary for both their well being and for society. The Ghost is likely the same. He thinks of this as a service that needs to be done for both Tokyo's sake and the sake of his own sanity."

Renji laughed humorlessly. "What sanity?"

The sound was like a nail gun shooting into Byakuya's eardrum, and he had to inhale deeply to fight off a bout of irrational frustration.

Ever since he began therapy and the process of weaning off his medicine, his senses were agitated and unfiltered. Today was much worst.

"Mentally ill? Yes. Insain? No."

Byakuya walked to the door in search of some odorless air. He needed to smoke a cigarette amongst the living.

"Being The Ghost doesn't give him a sense of purpose, it gives him a sense of existence. Without it, he's nothing."

 **xXx**

Byakuya entered an interrogation room within the dead zone. He was received by one of the survivor and a glare fitting for a yakuza member, sharp and ripped in all its edges. With two paper cups in hand, the agent walked over to the metal table and sat one in front of the man.

He gave it an equally as scathing stare down before he looked to the agent with lips as thin as he was. "You aint 'spoce to give me anything to drink. At least, that's not how they normally do it."

"You would be correct," Byakuya said as he began to pull out his chair, ignoring how the metal scraping against the tile was like a fire fight in his ears. "However, as I am sure you've noticed, this isn't a normal situation."

The man scoffed, and his hands squeezed harder at either side of his forames. "You don't hav'ta' lub me up before ya' fuck me." He muttered, "I'll tell ya' everything I know."

Byakuya paused and gave him a measured look. He then nodded and sat down. "Hayashi-san, is it? One of your associates is in a catatonic like state and the other is refusing to talk."

"He's a koshinuke!" Hayashi declared. "Scared that Ghost fucker will come back and finish him off if he speaks." He sputtered insultes under his breath for a moment before saying, "Not me though. What that bastard did to Minami Oyabun, well I'll talk to an itachi like you if it means he gets what's comin' to him." He unhinged both hands and held out one callused palm. His mutilated fingers trembled, with anger or fear, Byakuya didn't know. "My fingers are pretty screwed up, ya know." He touched one bony, disfigured digit to his thumb and said, "If not for Minami Oyabun, I'd probably be missin' this whole one."

"He was like an otousan to you, yes?"

"To everyone in our group. I screwed up a lot at the beginning, but he took pity on me. Took me off the streets, gave me advice, a family. He's more of an otousan than mine ever was."

"I see," Byakuya said. "First off, if I were to bring in a lineup, could you identify who was in the room with you?"

"I was blindfolded. Ya' know that."

"I was referring to their voice."

Hayashi shook his head in fast, short jerks and ran fingers through his sweat drenched hair. "Nah, nah, nah, he used one of them… uh… ya know, voice distorters. They have apps on your phone for em', ya know. Really simple shit."

"I figured as much." Byakuya watched as Hayashi picked up the cup of coffee and chugged it. Drops spilled down his t-shirt, but he didn't seem to mind. He then sat down the now crumpled cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hands, revealing track marks as his sleeve crept up his forearm. "Would you like to smoke? It won't help much with the withdraws, but it is something."

Hayashi's permanent scowl disappeared for just long enough to notice, and his young eyes went bright. There was an innocence underneath that glare of callused criminality and nonchalant abandonment that was hard for Byakuya to keep. He was one of the lost children of Tokyo, an eclipsed wonder in his eyes, blistered but still unwittingly seeking that of which he rejected. The yakuza feed off of cliches like him. They were opportunistic kidnappers, pecking away at the most vulnerable parts of their captivates and calling it love.

It disgusted Byakuya, something him and the Ghost obviously agreed on.

"I...Yeah, but they, um, took my smokes, ya know."

Byakuya took out his pack and zippo and slid them across the table. Hayashi spared one dubious look before he pulled out a cigarette, lit it up, and took in long, back to back puffs. After absorbing half of the cigarette in a matter of seconds, Byakuya asked, "What happened in that room, Hayashi-san?"

"Well I woke, and ya' saw how I was. Bound, gagged, bag over my head. This guy wasn't no joke," he explained, taking yet another lengthy puff of his cigarette. "I tried wiggling' out but it was no good. I could hear muffled sounds round me."

He rubbed three flat fingers over his dripping forehead, smoke gathering around his hair like a rain cloud. "Man, it was some some scary shit," he said with a humourless chuckle. "Anyway, after a while, he spoke up, voice all distorted. Said if we had da bags over our face, that meant we still had a chance."

"Have a chance?"

"Yeah," he said, "like it wasn't too late for us to be respectable or some crap like that." Hayashi pressed the ember flickering bud into a glass tray and reflexively reached for another, only to stop an inch from the box and look to Byakuya seeking approval in a way a child might do. When the agent nodded, he picked another cigarette and continued. "Then, I guess that's when he started shooting up the higher up guys. This Ghost, he was all silent, all ya could hear was these muffled yells and the chair legs rattling."

Hayashi's eyes stared at the lit cigarette as if looking for something in the smoke. He scratched his neck and shooed off the silence.

"Anyway, when he got ta' Minami Oyabun, it got quiet again. The Ghost said...you, like he knew Minami Oyabun, but in the end, he killed him just like the others… like it was so easy." He looked up to the agent, eyes held by crater, and said, "Then it was over. Just like that."

 **xXx**

After meeting with the squad, Ikkaku was given the task to investigate Minami Oyabun. He was supposed to use his street connects to see if the now deceased yakuza member had any binding to Ichigo, but figuring out how to deal with that situation could wait till later. Right now, he had something more important to take care of.

Kensi and Shunsui had given a report on their visit with Mayuri along with the article they had obtained from him about the army's developing science program. After reading the article, Agent Kuchiki recognized a familiar name. Katayama Hiroshi, the head of the budding science division and a known associate of Kurosaki Isshin from his military days. They had no need to question him up until now, but with this new development, Agent Kuchiki has assigned Kensi and Shunsui to take the three hour train ride to Kobe first thing in the morning in search for the mysterious Geta-boshi, or at least, a trail he left behind.

Ikkaku wasn't sure what they would reap, but years in the military made him good at sniffing out the bad in a situation, and the prospects of their little field trip made his nose tingle.

He hopped on his motorbike and drove to a convenience store in the next closest prefecture. Once he got there he bought a burner phone and walked into a nearby Izakaya that was just opening it's doors for the day. He ordered a Sapporo Nama Beer Black Label and picked out a table at the back right in front of the bathrooms, giving him a clear and all encompassing vantage point. After three or so minutes, he made the call.

It rang three times before he heard the chipper voice of Urahara on the other end.

"Hey, it's Ikkaku. I've got some news."

 _"Oh, this isn't a social call? I'm disappointed."_

A scoff was the only regard Ikkaku gave towards the man's antics.

"Do you know a man named Katayama Hiroshi?"

There was a brief silent, some static, and then a, " _Yes. We were in the service together."_

"Well I hope you got a plan for this one, mad scientist, because Kuchiki's sending two of his guys up to Kobe in the morning to pay him a visit, and I wouldn't be surprised if it led them straight back to you."

 _'Don't insult me, Madarame-san. I always have a plan.'_

He scoffed. "Good. Oh, and tell Ichigo-" He paused at the sound of a door chime ringing and a man walking up to the bar and ordering a beer. After a brief inspection, he whispered, "Tell Ichigo Kuchiki wants me to look into Minami. I'll be over later."

Ikkaku hung up without a response and shoved the phone into his shirt pocket. He took a few gulps of his beer and was about to leave, but before he stood Ikkaku heard someone clear their throat behind him.

"I think I may have misjudged you, Madarame Kibue-ho."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** (Obligatory OMG I'm so late, please forgive me, yada yada yada. You guys know the drill.) But anyway, I actually have been rethinking a lot of this story and finally figuered out how I want it to play out. Hence why this chapter is late. (Also the Voltron fandom has swallowed me up and I'm afraid it'll never spit me out. I'm in Klance hell)

This chapter was fun to write. Not only did I get to do research on everything from ballistics to Japanese boyscouts, but I got to finally explore some of the other characters, something that will continue to happen as the story goes on. Don't worry though, Byakuya and Ichigo are still the main attraction and their development will continue heavily in the next chapter.

And last but not least, I responded to comments at the bottom. Please send me some love. (I'm stranded on my boylove island and I need provisions. **I'm weak.** )

 **Terms to know**

Dainichi: Japanese deity

Black Emperor: In this context, its a reference to an old Japanese film about the real life, notorious biker gang, the black emperors.

haikyo: This is a popular activity in Japan where people actively go to search for and explore abandoned locations

BōiSukauto: Boyscout

Sonaeyo Tsuneni: The Japanese boyscouts motto, "Be prepared."

 **Ikkaku's Guide to Fucking Up Royally**

 **xXx**

Seeing Yumichika always made Ikkaku grin gushingly and uncharacteristically, as if he'd been tending to his bottle a bit too long. Messed up his stomach like that too, but when he turned to see the man standing there with his perfectly placed hair brushing over a pair knowingly arched brows, the bathroom door swinging shut at his back, Ikkaku wished he'd never laid eyes on that beautifully snide face in his life.

"You don't seem like the kind've guy who uses public restrooms," he said, fiddling with the neck of his bottle. This was an amateurish mistake. A seasoned detective like himself should've done a sweep of the bathroom, but seeing as the owner was still taking down bar stool when Ikkaku walked through the door, the precaution seemed a bit paranoid at best.

"I was powdering my nose," Yumichika said, and Ikkaku wasn't sure if the man was being sarcastic or not, but frankly, he had bigger things than the officers penchant for sassy comments to worry about. "But I don't think that's the question you want to ask."

Ikkaku could've shaped gems with the pressure building in his jaw as he waited not so patiently to see where Yumichika was going to take this. If he heard Ikkaku's conversation and was planning to snitch, confronting Ikkaku wasn't the smartest idea, and the forensic detective was anything but shortsighted despite his often aloof temperament.

"If you got something to say, say it. I'm not in the mood for coy, Yumichika."

The detective put on a parody of a smile before tilting his head as if to say fair enough. He sat down parallel to Ikkaku, preened his outfit, and tilted his chin. In a frank and fearless way, he said, "You know who the Ghost is."

There it was, not a question, but a softly spoken declaration delivered through pouty lips and brooding eyes.

"You're not being very smart," Yumichika said. "There are precincts further out. Why make your secret phone calls here?"

He had his reasons, and the prideful part of Ikkaku almost wanted to explain them point by point, but...

"What if I am? Why'd ya sit down in that seat then?"

Yumichika licked his canines and put on a smile so mischievous that it probably would've turned Ikkaku on in any other situation.

"Maybe I just like haunted houses."

"Yeah, well, this shit isn't make believe, Yumichika. Mess around and this may be one haunted house that won't let you leave."

Yumichika's eyes widened a bit before he let out a chuckle that drifted, wispy like smoke. He pulled a silver case from the inside of suede kimono style jacket and took out a cigarette as slender as his fingers. When he lit it up, he loosely circled his hand towards Ikkaku and said, "You're not going to hurt me," before placing it to his lips and inhaling. "The Ghost doesn't hurt the innocent. Although," he arched a brow and slid his eyes to the side, "I suppose I'm no Dainichi."

" _Hasn't_ ," Ikkaku corrected

Yumichika tapped his cigarette against a plastic ashtray twice, musing. "Why such the conflicted expression? What are you thinking about?"

"If I'm going to let you leave this bar or not."

"Figures." Yumichika leaned back, arms interwoven. "I do know several efficient ways to dispose of a body if it comes down to that."

Yumichika had this child like restlessness in the way he kept repositioning his arms into different poses. Not out of anxiety or fear, but out of boredom, and that casual morbidity made Ikkaku all the more interested in the kind of person Yumichika was. He was definitely more than a forensic officer.

His head perked, and as if he had been inwardly mulling over the semantics of his own homicide, Yumichika asked, "But what about the barkeep? That would certainly pose a problem."

Ikkaku leaned forward on his elbows, making an expression that he hoped came off as unimpressed. "Guys like that are just mercenaries with liquor licenses. It be easy to pay him off, get him real sympathetic by telling him you were just some fag who couldn't keep his hands to himself."

Yumichika's pupils dilated until there was only black, as if the crude language excited him. When he leaned forward, imitating Ikkaku's body language, Ikkaku could smell something sweet on his skin.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Keibuho Madarame?"

"Nah," Ikkaku smirked, "but I've been known to kiss other things."

Yumichika smirked back over the butt of his cigarette. It was always so easy to play this game with him, but this time was different. Yumichika wanted a prize.

"So is that why you come here? Because the owners easy to control?"

"Id stop asking questions. You're going to dig yourself right into your own grave." He paused. "So what, you're willing to risk your life over some fun and what, curiosity? I don't buy that."

"Come on, Ikkaku. Think about it. Here is this man who flirts with me shamelessly, who've I've shared a few drinks with and even fewer beds. What else was I supposed to do other than approach you?"

It was true Ikkaku had always liked Yumichika. Pretty as a sunset and slyer than a shinobi, he had this way about him that said he could bring a man to his death with a single glance if he wanted, a sort've confidence that was as effortless as the way he moved. It sure be a waste of a nice face and a smart mouth if Ikkaku had to do him in, but the detective had done worse with less motive. The only question now was: did he have to?

"Any sane person would've stayed back until I left. They would've seen the danger."

"Oh, I see it. I just don't care."

"Danger junkie then? That's your motive?"

"You want motive? How about this? I actually agree with what the Ghost is doing." When Ikkaku's eyes widened in question, Yumichika sniffed, "You should know just how far Aizen's hand reaches. I could..." he hesitated. The moment of pause didn't look right on him. "I could give you information."

The eyes that kept his own were like a knife to the throat, sharp and dripping with anger. It was a glare Ikkaku received from every mirror he looked into.

Before Ikkaku could respond, Yumichika said, "Give me a ride home,"

"What?"

"You obviously don't trust me," Yumichika said, pressing and twisting his cigarette into the ash tray. "So, to extend my trust, I'll allow you to escort me home. Surely it be much easier to kill me there than it would be to kill me here if that was what you wanted."

Ikkaku cocked his head at the strange creature in front of him. He was sure Yumichika was either the craziest or most courageous son of a bitch he'd ever met, because he sure wasn't no naive, dow eyed school boy. Either way, his offer reminded Ikkaku why he liked Yumichika as much as he did. There just wasn't something right with him in that pretty little head of his, and Ikkaku loved the smell of Yumichika's insanity. It went well with his own.

Ikkaku kept staring. Yumichika let out a bothered sigh, the fuurin chimed at the opening of a door, and shot glasses clanked against the bar before he spoke again.

"Well?"

"Fine, it gives me time to figure out what to do with you."

He got up and dragged Yumichika by the wrist into the bathroom. As the door shut, Ikkaku pushed Yumichika against it, grazing firm hands from his neck and down his chest without explanation.

"Arms out."

Yumichika complied happily, and Ikkaku squeezed both limbs from shoulders to wrist before flipping the officer around, his chest hitting the door with a thud.

"I like it when you're rough, Daddy," Yumichika sang, and Ikkaku couldn't help the satisfied chuckle that accompanied his probing - perhaps overly thorough - hands. "If you want to be extra vigilant, you could always do a full cavity search."

Ikkaku stepped back and spun Yumichika around. "You're enjoying this too much." He held out his hand. "Phone."

Yumichika wrangled it from his pocket and handed it to Ikkaku who promptly took out the chip and crushed it before throwing it and the phone in a trash bin.

"Was that necessary?"

"Relax, depending on how this goes, I'll get you a new one."

Ikkaku pushed passed a smirking Yumichika with the expectation of being followed. When they got to Ikkaku's motorbike, he handed over a helmet to Yumichika. He gawked at the safety device with a crinkled nose and said, "I refuse to get helmet hair."

"Ya know what will mess up your hair more?" Ikkaku asked, "Your brains when they splatter all over the concret."

Yumichika rolled his eyes but took the helmet anyway. Once straddled, he looped his arms around Ikkaku's waist, and over the mewling engine, told him the address.

Ikkaku kicked off, and like he often did, his eyes waffled between the street in front and his rear view mirror. In it, he saw a red and black Suzuki tailing him. It was a really flashy, Tokyo Drift type bike that begged for attention, making its movements easy to track. After a few blocks, it was still following from a distance and Ikkaku's nose itched in that familiar way.

He quickly skidded into a turn and zipped down an ally. He made a few more tight squeezes and abrupt detours before Yumichika said, "What's your deal, Black Emperor?"

Ikkaku's eyes slid to his mirror.

"Someone's following us."

Yumichika did a quick over the shoulder glance as they took a curve onto another back alley street. "Well then we'll just have to lose them," he said, kicking at a trash bin as they sped by, making their tag along go toppling.

They both shared a airy chuckle as they cut out into traffic only to gape at the new blue and white Suzuki that appeared behind them.

"Shit," Ikkaku said, "where do these guys keep coming from?"

"More importantly, why are they following us?"

"You're riding with an enemy of the yakuza." Ikkaku smirked. "More than you can handle, pretty?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Yumichika said right against Ikkaku's ear, squeezing him tighter, "This is how most of my first dates go."

Ikkaku hummed at the mixture of adrenaline and Yumichika's satin voice. It left him bulging, a situation he'd have to deal with when he wasn't trying to out maneuver this life size hot wheels behind him.

'We have ta' lose him. I can figure out my next move then.'

They zig zagged in and out of traffic, weaving through honking cars at every possible opening, but no matter how many fish tailing turns they took or how fast they went, they just couldn't lose this guy. Ikkaku looked up to a traffic light turning red, and where everyone else saw an upcoming stop, he saw an opportunity.

He smirked, gripping tightly to his handles. "Hold on, pretty."

He forced himself to keep his eyes open and gave everything up to luck as he flew into the intersection. Horns and tiers screamed on both sides of him, and even though he was sure the fast approaching asphalt would be the last thing he'd see, Ikkaku found himself on the safe side of a dangerous situation, alive and completely in tact.

As he let out a scratchy whoop, he thought that he owed the shichifukujin shrin a visit and the heavens a kiss while he was at it.

"Lets not celebrate our victory quite yet," Yumichika warned. "Their still on us."

"What?! I barely got past with my ass still in tack."

"They must be professionals."

"I ain't gonna let these goons chase my up and down Tokyo," Ikkaku yelled over the wind whipping around them. "Not my style."

"If it's a confrontation you're looking for, I know a rather deserted place not too far away."

At that, Ikkaku's eyes squinted suspiciously and nostrils flared. He had been hopping Yumichika was just a thrill seeker who found skydiving pedestrian, or that his claims of information had been sincere, but maybe he was just letting his dick get in the way. This wasn't how he had wanted things to go, but it was the road that he was on. He'd just have to take this turn as it came.

"Where?"

…

They rolled into an empty, overgrown parking lot that extended into an abandoned clinic with untended weeds bursting from the glassless window panes.

Ikkaku had managed to put some distance between him and his stalker, but that only gave him a short interval of time. That was okay. He knew what he had to do.

"I use to do a lot of haikyo in college," Yumichika explained while taking off his helmet. "This was one of-"

In a scud of movements, Ikkaku's chest was at Yumichika's back and his gun against Yumichika's temple.

Yumichika bristled as if all Ikkaku had done was mess up his hair.

"I thought we were passed this, Ikkaku."

"We're not past shit. Somehow you're just magically at that izakaya in the exact moments I was dropping intel? Then some psycho on a motorbike starts following us and you just happened to know about this place. I believe in coincidences, but even I know better than that ."

"Okay, in hindsight, I can see how this looks bad, but-"

"Walk into the clinic," he said, jutting the barrel against Yumichika's head. "Now."

The officer complied with little more than a sigh as he was dragged into the building. Ikkaku brought them to the center of the first floor, eyes shifting between Yumichika and the door. When he stopped them, he said, "Get on your knees."

"This floor is disgusting, Ik-"

Ikkaku kicked Yumichika right behind the knees, making him fall onto his hands, but being the creature of beauty and dignity that he way, he settled back against his haunches.

"Tell me, who are your friends? What do they want?"

"You're going to have to shoot me, because I can't tell you something I don't know."

Ikkaku clicked off the safety.

"You think I won't?"

"What do I think?" Yumichika asked, turning his head enough for his chin to line up with his shoulder. "I think you're a coward, shooting me from behind like that. Does it make it easier if you don't see my face? How ugly."

"I ain't a monster. Before this, I was actually pretty sweet on you. It's nothing personal."

There was something wavering to be found in his voice, and it must've reached Yumichika's ears, because suddenly, he began to stand up, arms lifted stiffly by his head. "I think it's very personal. You seem like the type of man who never shuts his eyes on a kill. It would be dishonoring." Ikkaku shouted for him to get back down, but he didn't listen. Instead he turned and looked at Ikkaku with mountain type eyes, fortified and bigger than himself. "So if you want to kill me, you'll have to do it like this. I refuse to die without any dignity."

Ikkaku had shot this gun many times. It sat comfortable in the grooves of his hand, familiar, just an extension of himself. He was addicted to the blood, the musk of battle. The only reason he quit the army was because he was sick of killing those with no other choice but to be killed. The innocent. The cause-less. No respect in it, you see. When he took a life, it was always someone who went about their days ready to die just as much as he did. That's why he joined Ichigo, to fight the people who chose the possibility of death as a lifestyle.

But here he was, given the opportunity to do just that, and he felt gun heavy. There was nothing familiar about it.

There was loud whooshing, and Ikkaku looked to see the motor-goon walking in. His face was smudged by the distance, but all that mattered was the gun the man lifted and the body that jumped in front of it.

This turn came too fast and he couldn't take it in time. It was met by a crash, a bang, a splatter.

 **xXx**

Everyone one was gathered at the industrial wasteland that was Urahara's apartment awaiting Ikkaku's arrival. Rangiku was tossing kunais at a worn silhouette paper target and Chad was making noise with a guitar. The only one doing any real work was Urahara, who simply fiddled with his keyboard in a way that told Ishida he wasn't doing any real work after all.

In these moments where there were no motions to move through, no plotting to be done, Ishida would sometimes have this feeling of willful yet inevitable emptiness, as if he was driving on a highway filled with exits he wouldn't take all for the sake of ending up nowhere. He wondered if the others felt that too, if they were all on this meandering- highway together simply because they had nothing better to do.

Probably not.

It wasn't as if Ishida thought the rest of the team was idealistic about what they were doing here, but he was born on this road, and they were different in that way. Other than Urahara, nobody knew this road with the same bitter intimacy that he did. No one knew how badly the asphalt burned when you hit it. No one had traveled these curves as much as he had. No one knew that they had no end, that even in your death, they would still stretch on indefinitely. It was more than a duty to him. It was heritage and ethnicity, a culture created up of computer codes and store packed raman. In him, memories of half smoked cigarettes and crumbled up lottery tickets spilling from the mouth of a car consel of which he stayed for days were immortalized, sitting beside images of his withered father staggering into their home with wounds Ishida would have to close up.

He didn't remember the wins, because the next day always came, the next tragedy, the next reminder that you're living your life walking in a circle, cleaning up the messes that monsters leave behind, but never preventing them. It was all the means without the end, and even his father grew unsympathetic of the Heretics. Day dreaming radicals, he'd call them. Ishida didn't quite agree. The Heretics were some of the most jaded people he knew. They, like himself, had become desensitized to the scariest parts of this life. They understood with an almost frightening acceptance that their lives amounted to nothing but damage control, but they continued, not because of the people they saved but because of themselves. Because what were you if you left this highway to get on another? Lost. All you were was lost.

Ishida closed his book from his place on the couch, and looked to Ichigo who was now in the middle of a hushed conversation with Urahara.

"He's late."

Ichigo and Urahara looked to each other before Ichigo shrug a shoulder. "Not really. He didn't actually give us a time, so it's not a big deal."

Ishida glared at Ichigo as if he was code, all ones and zeros that could be understood with enough scrutiny, and even though he couldn't explain the what, he knew that something was different about Ichigo. He knew because he tended to Ichigo's quirks with a careful analysis. He knew because that was the only reason he aligned himself with a fraction of the Heretics again.

A year and a half after he disassociated himself with the Heretics, Ishida realized that he was a broken thing. He had been bred that way. Cynicism had been in his food and now it was in his marrow. He thought that, perhaps, he was once an optimist and this disillusive reality left his sensibilities in mourning, because even as a doctor, his eyes choose to linger on all the black in this multicolored world.

He knew what the Heretics knew. They were not gods. They did not have god like hands. They could only do what was within their human capabilities, but for some reason, that truth made a void in him that all of their accomplishments could never fill.

So when Ichigo came to him with a face like an empty bottle, his hollowness so transparent beneath it's glass casing of determination, Ishida put his fulfillment in helping his old friend. Because that's what brokens things do. Their either thrown away or their parts are repurposed for someone else's benefit.

"I figured you'd want to leave as soon as possible."

"Why?"

"Well, you're all dressed up. I thought you might want to see Agent Kuchiki again. What, was last night not enough for you?"

It was harsh. Ishida knew that, but he was feeling a bit harsh himself. The knowledge of their shortcomings kept him in a vice grip of restlessness. He knew, Urahara too, that the Heretics weren't yakuza hitmen. They mostly saved victims and murdered only when they had to, but there was no saving here, and if there was, it was in such an abstract and imperceivable way that it seemed too cheap to be counted. They were killing the fodder of Aizen's army. The generals at best. All toy soldiers, plastic and easy to meltdown. There would always be someone to take their place. More homeless teens, the Russians, another factor of the yakuza, for every dead body there'd be a live one. Ishida was sure that it didn't matter how many gang members they killed. They weren't fixing anything.

That was fine, because the only person Ishida wanted to save was Ichigo, but he didn't even know what that meant anymore. He didn't know if he could.

Ichigo acted like he didn't even hear him, which angered Ishida all the more.

"Wait, Agent gorgeous was at your house yesterday? At night?" Rangiku imitated cat claws with her acrylic tipped fingers and purred. "Bad kitty."

Ichigo snorted in response and Ishida said, "You're being reckless, Kurosaki-san."

That earned him a small scowl, but Ishida's lips could only twitch in satisfaction.

Chad stepped forward from his spot, ever the diplomat he was, and said, "What I think Ishida-san means is, we want you to be careful with any plans you have involving Agent Kuch-"

Their window was slammed open with a loud clunk, followed by Ikkaku ducking through with a young man clutched onto him. Ikkaku stood in a wife beater, his sweat sticky skin covered with scrapes. The man left of him had a soaked through shirt wrapped around his midsection. Blood pattered against the floor between them.

Ishida reflexively stood and speed towards the first aid kit.

"What the hell, Ikkaku-san!" Ishida heard from behind him.

"I can explain."

"Explain why you've brought some bleeding stray into our secret headquarters."

The young man sniffed. "Its Ayasegawa Yumichika, actually, Keibuho of the Tōkyō-to Forensic Division. Not stray."

"A cop?! That's so much better-"

Ishida grabbed it from atop the fridge and turned back in just enough time to see Ichigo step forward and hold up a silencing hand that had Rangiku huffing in petulant compliance.

"Let's hear what he has to say."

"Idiots," Ishida hissed, gripping Yumichika's sagging arm and hoisting it over his shoulder. "Can't you see he's bleeding out? Madarame-san-" He nodded towards the large metal work table and Ikkaku squinted in understanding.

"Gun shot?" Ishida asked. Ikkaku nodded curtly.

Soon they were lifting Yumichika onto the table and Ishida was plucking necessities from his kit. Ikkaku's feet scuffed in these sort've back and forth microstep that Ishida was familiar with. He called it the waiting room waltz.

"Go talk to the them before they combust," Ishida ordered as he nodded towards the rest of the group. When Ikkaku's pinched glare switched between Yumichika and him, Ishida said, "I got him. Go."

"You heard the man," Yumichika said with a breathy smile. "Go."

"You don't even stop talking when you're half dead, pretty."

"Half dead? I feeling more alive than ever, baldy."

Ishida knew that wasn't a good thing, but pursed his lips against the thought.

He glanced up to see Ikkaku's smirking lips struggling against the force of a frown. "You better stay alive to regret calling me that," he said before walking over to the rest of the group.

His hands were on autopilot, cutting off Yumichika's shirt, checking airways, pressing fingers to his carotid artery.

 _'Hemorrhaging to the right flank, high pulse and respiration, clammy-_

His probing hands stopped as he gauged the severity of the wound. It wasn't a laceration, but an avulsion, a whole chunk of meat gone, possibly going past tendons into organs.

"What kind of bullet caused this?" he asked softly, the words just hot air on his chin.

"Are you speaking or am I just hallucinating?"

Ishida's hand grabbed for the gauges as he glanced down at Yumichika who stared at him with wide eyes and sweat matted hair.

"Your alert," Ishida said, adding pressure to the wound, "That's a good thing."

"Perspective." Yumichika huffed dryly. "Are you a… doctor?"

"No," Ishida lied, "I don't have a medical degree. Just a beaver scout's understanding of first aid and some medical jargon I picked up from my family."

He expected Yumichika, in perfect dryness, to say, _'well that's reassuring_ , or some variation of it, but instead, he looked up with a grin as big as his wound and said, "You're no BōiSukauto."

"You mean you hope I'm not one."

"What's their motto?" he chuckled, "Sonaeyo Tsuneni? You're not prepared enough. Not for an assassin." He paused, his eyes raking over Ishida in glassy appraisal. "Your hands move like a battlefield surgeon."

Being aligned with the Heretics meant that he had saved people with more damage and less equipment than he had now, so the comparison to a battlefield surgeon was reasonable if not a little too accurate for Ishida's concerns. He knew his first aid experience would be obvious, but the fact that Yumichika correlated that to medical experience so blatantly left him without any sort've padding, all tissue and no skin.

But right now, he had to worry about Yumichika's skin, or lack there of it.

"Funny." He looked down at the red soaked gauze with a thought that the wound was draining too quickly. "Humours a good sign too."

"The way I see it, life is dreadful ninety percent of the time. Joking helps to make everything not so serious. Laugh at it or wallow in it, I suppose,"

"That's a good perspective to- Hey! Hey are you with me?" Yumichika's eyes fluttered closed and he made wispy sounds that didn't make it past the edges of his lips. "Kurosaki! Grab that blood pressure cuff. Now!"

Ishida didn't look up but heard Ichigo move around him. He changed from gauze to absorbable gelatin sponges as he yelled for Chad to come over too, but when he looked up, it was Ikkakus brooding he was met with.

"What's going on?!"

Ishida's eyes stayed directed at the force of his bloody hands as he said, "I'm not sure yet."

"What the hell does-"

"I said I'm not sure!" He snapped, jerking his head to the side. "If you want to help, talk to him! Keep him alert."

With a restrained growl, Ikkaku said, "You better not let him die," before he moved over to the front of the table and leaned down, mumbling something to Yumichika Ishida couldn't hear. He peaked up to see Ichigo across from him wrapping a blood pressure cuff around Yumichika's arm before glancing over at Chad whose mellow temperament was a bit disarming in a chaos as thick as this one.

"He was shot in the side. If this was a regular bullet, it should've been a flesh wound at most, but it tore and ripped like a knife. Any clue what this could be?"

"Any sign of charred skin?"

"No."

"They do have copperhead bullets that project needles on contact… If it's that, he was lucky he was grazed. Those things are made to kill."

"Ha!" Yumichika let out a jarring yelp of amusement as his head bobbled. "Death zero, Yumi-chik-a one."

That pop of delirium was followed by a laxness of limbs and eyes that had Ishida looking urgently up to Ichigo.

"165 over 94."

"He's hypotensive!"

"What does that mean?" Ikkaku shouted.

Ishida pressed more sponges to the wound.

 _'This isn't working.'_

"His blood pressure is spiking."

"What the fuck does that-!"

"Let Ishida think," Urahara said.

"I'm checking again," Ichigo said.

The whimpering heaves of Yumichika and the pumping of a blood pressure cuff were the only noises in the room, but the adrenaline charged energy reicashaying between the group was doing something to the air, making it buzz in reaction. Ishida closed his eyes, pressing deeper into the wound.

 _'One...Two...Three...Four...Five... '_

 _'I need to think like a battlefield surgeon._ '

"Its 169 over 97."

Ishida opened his eyes.

"Rangiku-san, go get that clothes iron and plug it up to the extension cord beneath the table."

"On it!"

Ichigo's eyes widened before narrowing into an understanding glint. "Your cauterizing the wound."

"Yes. You'll like this one Madarame-san," he explained, if only because he knew Ikkaku would ask. "It's a medieval technique soldiers used to seal their wounds." He was nudged over as Rangiku squirmed under the table. "Key word, medieval."

"You're... " Ikkaku paused, pointing towards the iron that now sat on and beside Ishida. "You're going to use that?"

"It my only option. He losing too much blood, and I don't have a clogging agent or time to stitch him up. Go get a rolled up towel for him to bite down on. Urahara-san, ready me a syringe of morphine from my kit and let's just hope he's not allergic to it." Lowering his voice, he said, "He's going to need it."

In a frenzy of breath and movement, everyone was rounding the table and the iron was a screaming pain sort've red. He looked down to Yumichika who, despite his glossy paste like skin, had a smirk smeared like blood across his face. It was wild and fearless, not quite mad yet not quite sane, and Ishida wondered who this man was and what circumstances led him to the misfortune of knowing the people in this room.

He tried to put on a smile that came out more like a smirk and watched as Yumichika's own lips cracked minically. "Battlefield surgeon, right?" Ishida said.

"Bring it on!"

Ikkaku slammed a fist against the metal beside Yumichika's head and shouted, "That's what I'm talking about, baby," before placing the rolled up towel in between his teeth.

"Help me role him. We're going to have to hold him down"

Pairs of clumsy hands pushed against the man until his back was to Ishida. The doctor picked up the iron and it was heavy with the weight of choices. There was a collective silence.

"If he passes out from the pain, just know, that's normal," were his last words before abruptly pressing the iron to Yumichika's wound.

The iron hissed, and the horrible sound of Yumichika's muffled sobs made everyone recoil in cringing sympathy, sucking air through the gaps in their teeth. Yumichika's limbs thrashed against clenching hands until Ishida removed the iron. Then all that was left was the awful, coppery scent of burnt muscle tissue and a pain none of them could ever imagine.

Everyone took a step back, and the varying expressions of concentration - wrinkled noses, tucked lips, and poking tongues, collapsed into a manic relief as that panic of endorphins dwindled inside of them.

"Well," Urahara said, "talk about one hell of a team building exercise."

Ishida wiped the sweat of his brow with his forearm and checked Yumichika to find that he was unconscious. He grimaced at the blistered patches of festered skin.

"Kurosaki, check his blood pressure again."

Ishida did everything to make Yumichika comfortable, as comfortable as someone could be on a slab of metal. He took the man's vitals every five minutes while listening to an over complicated explanation of why Yumichika was even here in the first place. Around the twenty minute mark, Ishida finished taking Yumichika's blood pressure for the fifth time before walking towards the group.

"One thing I don't understand is, if they were after Madarame-san, why bring bullets meant to kill? They obviously wanted to integrate him about The Ghost."

"I thought about that too," Ichigo said. "The only other option I can come up with is that they were there for Yumichika."

Ikkaku slid a hand across the slick skin of his head. "They were aiming for me. That's what it seemed like anyway, but we were standing pretty close before he jumped in front of that bullet."

Ikkaku was, if at all possible, somewhere between a jutted chin and a dipped head. There was a mixture of anger and shame that didn't compute quite well on his face. He was like a samurai in that way. If death came knocking at his door, Ikkaku was damn sure not going to let someone else open it.

"... But, he did mention having some information… Maybe they were watching him."

"Maybe they were there for both of you," Rangiku poised.

"What are you saying?"

Rangiku rolled her shoulder casually. "I'm saying it's very convenient that he just happened to be there during your intel drop."

"He almost died for me. How does that make any sense?"

"Maybe he was ordered to jump in front of the bullet."

"Are you fucking drunk, woman?" Ikkaku shouted back, "People don't just take bullets for other people because they're told to."

"They do if their desperate enough," Ichigo said.

"You believe this bullshit too?"

"We don't know anything about him, Ikkaku, and neither do you, not really. Don't let your emotions cloud your judgment."

A twitch shot from the corner of Ikkaku's lips to the crest of his brow. Ishida could relate. "Not all of us can walk around like a fucking ice statue… He saved my life. He's not one of the bad guys."

In the way a draft leaked in through the crevices of a window sill, there was a slight chill of irritation in the way Ichigo held himself, one that Ishida hadn't felt in a long time.

"I didn't say he was, but that doesn't mean he's one of our guys either," Ichigo said. "It's dangerous to think you can ever really know anyone."

Ikkaku didn't respond, but instead, he started pacing around the area, picking things up to clutch whatever would fit in his hands. Meanwhile, Ichigo was back to his fixed self. His eyes were sharp and down casted, not out of shame, but out of contemplation. Then he looked up to Urahara and did what any good leader would do. He delegated. "Urahara, what are our most likely scenarios here?"

If you didn't know Urahara, his devil may care attitude might seem like the demeanor of someone simple and clumsy, but for those who did, know him, that is, you knew his whimsy was the shallow trench between him and all out insanity. You knew what could happen if a mind as remarkable as his took itself too seriously.

For that reason, most everyone looked to Urahara with the same certainty that people did when looking to books or ancient philosophers who held more wisdom than themselves. Ishida, however, saw a supercomputer. A man who ran algorithms in his head in the way some people overthink or saw patterns that weren't there. It was just a reflexive function of his existence

"There's a high likelihood that he's working for someone. That his appearance at the pub wasn't an unfortunate coincidence." His eyes slid over to Ikkaku who was wrangling a stray cord between his fingers and pulling it taunt. "Just like you yourself thought when you held him at gunpoint. Getting shot on purpose, that's not as high of a possibility, though it's not so low either. It's hard to say. Madarame-san is a sort've unreliable witness considering how quickly and intense the shooting was. As for why he chose to do these things, if he did, I could give you likely reasons, but their endless."

"I guess we'll have to wait until he wakes up then."

"Wake up?" Ishida exclaimed. "We need to get him to a hospital."

"You know that's not possible-"

"He could be hemorrhaging internally as we speak! We don't know what or if those needles hit any vital organs. He needs a MRI as soon as possible."

"Rather the yakuza came after him or after us. Either way, we can _not_ chance taking him to a hospital."

Ichigo spoke in that voice that was meant to be law. Ishida could see that much. Good thing they were a bunch of criminals around here.

"I don't have-"

"Ishida-san," Urahara spoke up from his lazily perched potion against the back of the sofa. "Ichigo-san is right. I wouldn't put it past the yakuza - any of their fractions - to have men stationed at every hospital within Tokyo."

Ishida pinched his puckered forehead and looked over to the soft bobbing of Yumichika's chest. He relinquished a sigh and turned back to the group. "He'll need platelets and fluids five minutes ago. We'll have to hack into the forensic divisions system and get a medical history so I can put him on antibiotics without unwittingly making him worse. That burn will cause a nasty infection if it's not taken care of. He'll also need to be monitored around the clock." Ishida paused, his eyes landing on everyone one of them before rounding off on Ichigo. "I'm a doctor first and foremost, Kurosaki-san. If it turns out he needs more advanced treatment, then-"

"Then we'll make sure he gets it," Ichigo assured with a curt nod of the head

"You better know what you're doing, Ichigo," Ikkaku said, every bit of that implied threat visible in the way he stepped into Ichigo's space.

"I won't let him die."

"Correction," Ishida said, stepping forward and placing a hand against his chest. "I won't let him die. Don't pretend like you would think twice about killing him if he didn't pass your checklist."

Unblinking and without hesitation, Ichigo said, "And don't pretend like you would try to stop me."

"Ishida," Chad spoke up from his watchful post by the window. "You shouldn't be so hard on Ichigo. He doesn't want to hurt him. He doesn't like it, and maybe you don't see it, but a lot of what Ichigo does is to keep us safe."

Ishida's eyes softened in a way that was inevitable whenever looking at Chad. In a world full of splotchy gray, he was as black and white as they came, pure and saturated. Chad had no convoluted back story and his intentions were as linear and uncompromising as he was. He wanted to protect Ichigo. He was loyal to him in such a way that drew no confusion or overlapping of ideals. In that way, he was the complete opposite of Ichigo. Ichigo who was sullied by tragedy, a car wreck of light and dark that formed a man so complex that all he did was cast shadows.

It was that that made Ishida wonder, worry. If that darkness kept spreading, would Ichigo even be able to see the light given off from the people around him?

"Exactly," Rangiku said. "If you're walking on a moral high ground here, it's a pretty frail one. None of us were made to be here. None of us are innocent."

Urahara's hand plopped down against Ichigo's shoulder and squeezed. "At times like these, I think it's important to remember what our intentions are." He looked pointedly, yet without any judgment, at Ishida. "And their not malicious."

Ichigo didn't say anything, but he wore a small smile that seemed more genuine than any of his cheek perking grins.

Ishida shifted uncomfortably. The air was cloyed by a silence that he didn't have the gut to let linger. Moving towards the door, he said, "I'm going to the clinic to pick up some supplies."

"Not so fast," Ichigo said. "We're moving."

"But I thought Urahara said everything was in place with the Katayama Hiroshi situation."

"It was my idea," Urahara said. "There's a ninety five percent chance Kuchiki's men will find nothing, but even if there was a zero percent chance, it's not good to stay in one place too long."

"Where are we going?"

"The Underground. Temporarily, of course."

"The Underground?!"

Ichigo's lips curved with a humor that Ishida was not in the head space to deal with. "I thought you'd be excited to see your girlfriend, Ishida."

"There's a female who likes our Ishida-kun?" Rangiku taunted. "Like, a human female?"

"She's not my girlfriend."

"But you want her to be."

Ishida blinked owlishly at Ichigo before looking back to Urahara. "I'll need a van and a gurney to move him."

"Oh is that all?" Urahara chuckled as he swayed away. "One van and a gurney coming right up, Ishida Senpai."

Ikkaku threw down the cord he had been manhandling and it hit the floor like a whip. "I need something to do," he grunted out. "So let's have it, boss. I know there's something."

Ichigo smirked that familiar smirk in Ikkaku's direction and said, "I need you to deliver a message to Agent Kuchiki for me."

 **xXx**

 **Faery'sConfessions:** (Slams fist on table) Damn right they need more recognition! Seriously, I have such a love affair with this ship. Theyre one of my first ships actually. They feel like home to me. Glad I can share that with other fans!

 **clarit:** Long time no talk Chika! Yes, I have returned from the dead, fashionably late as always. So, for the Byakuya situation, he's going through a massive extastential crisis. Remember his whole life he's tried to put everything in tearms of black and white. Law abiding or not. And Ichigo's becoming a gray area that hes inexplicably drawn to. Basically Ichigo got our Bya boi fucked up. lol. Don't worry, Im rooting for Ichigo too (Although I try to keep my bias out of the plot I'm weaving) He'll be brought to his knees soon, but in a good way. (Wink, wink, nudge, nudge)

 **Tifanny91:** Lets see. They've met three times in all so far, but their pulled together by that evening in the ware house, and even more so, their antagonist views. Like always, you're very keen to Byakuya. Theres a push and pull with them, each having something the other admirers. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, love!

 **Guest** : Thanks, Love. I appreciate the cheering squad. It's wholly necessary.

 **hereforsocialistpropaganda** Honestly, with how dense this fic is and with how long I go between updates, I'm surprised anyone remembers anything. I just appreciate the effort people put into keeping up with this story. One of my favorite quotes is, "Good art resist us," meaning we have to work for a full understanding and enjoyment of it, but I know most people aren't looking for that fanfiction. So, anyway, thank you for your time and appreciation.

 **Daddys little crazy bitch:** I dig your enthusiasm! Enjoy, love.


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